


and may I not prove unworthy

by everywordnotsaid



Category: SEAL Team (TV)
Genre: Clay Spenser Whump, Gen, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:08:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 28,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23583601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everywordnotsaid/pseuds/everywordnotsaid
Summary: The soldier's prayer on the eve of battle remains not 'Lord, spare me' but 'Lord, let me not prove unworthy of my brothers'
Relationships: Jason Hayes & Clay Spenser, Naima Perry/Ray Perry
Comments: 114
Kudos: 309





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all hope you're not sick of me yet! All I do in my free time is cook and write so this train isn't slowing down yet haha. Also, this one goes out to burn_me_down for being so consistently kind and supportive on all my fics and inspiring me to start writing for this show! Hope everyone enjoys!

_Something small and dark arcs through the shattered windowpane, just missing Jason’s shoulder. It clatters against the cracked concrete and rolls to a stop in the middle of the room. Jason spins and then blanches, heart stuttering in his chest._

_“Grenade!”_

_He shouts, desperate and strained, but he knows it doesn’t matter. It’s too late for them to run, too late for anything at all. Even if the team could move fast enough the blast will probably take half the building down with it right one top of them. Lose-lose. Anything else he tries to say is lost in the roar that fills his ears as the grenade detonates._

_**-48 Hours Earlier-** _

“Twenty bucks says I can get this in his mouth without waking him up.”

Clay says, grinning mischievously as he holds up a piece of popcorn. Jason eyes Brock. He’s passed out in Ray’s comfiest recliner, feet up on the coffee table and his mouth hanging open, totally dead to the world. He shakes his head, waving Clay off. 

“Nah, that man sleeps like a rock, I’m not taking that bait.” 

Clay gives him his most disappointed face, popping the kernel into his mouth.

“Come on, you going to chicken out? Thought you were braver then that Jase.”

“You know what, I hope you do wake him up Clay, I can barely hear the ref’s calls over his damn snoring.” 

Ray gripes irritably from across the couch, grabbing the remote to crank up the volume on the TV. Sonny laughs, cramming a handful of barbecue chips in his mouth and crunching them obnoxiously. 

“Aw, you’re just mad ‘cause your team’s losin’ Ray.” 

“Yeah, and you’re even madder cause it’s the Longhorn’s beating them”

Trent adds, grinning. Jason leans further back into the couch and takes a sip of his beer, watching as Sonny and Ray start to bicker over which team’s QB has better stats. 

“You know what, Clay, I’ll take you up on that bet. 20 bucks.” 

He says, giving Clay a nudge with his elbow. Clay shoots him a look that seems to say watch this, reaching forward to grab another piece of popcorn from the table. Taking careful aim he throws it in a gentle overhead at Brock’s face. It bounces off of his cheek once before rolling neatly into his mouth. Brock twitches, shifts a little, and doesn’t wake up. Clay shoots up off the couch in a silent victory cry, reaching out an expectant hand to Jason.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get too excited I’ll be taking that back next time we play cards.”

Jason concedes, trying to hide a smile as he pulls a twenty out of his wallet and slaps it in Clay’s hand. Bravo’s all gathered at Ray’s for the first game of football season, tradition since he and Ray have worked the same team together. It feels good to relax a little, it’s been one spin-up after another since they got back from Mexico and everyone’s starting to feel the wear and tear. This is some much needed R&R, and as Clay settles back on the couch next to him, Jason looks around at his team. Brock napping, Ray yelling at a call the ref just made while Trent and Sonny laugh at him, Clay still grinning smugly from his win. 

It finally feels like they’re getting their groove back after that disastrous last op in Chiapas, the dust settling back into place. Stella leaving him was rough for Clay but he seems to be working through it, getting his head back in the game. There’s still something going on with Ray, he’s been off ever since that church in Mexico City but there will be time to handle that. Naima will help get his head on straight, and being back with the kids has been good for him. Right now, Jason’s just happy to kick his feet up, drink a beer, and watch the game. 

At that moment Ray’s team scores a touchdown, and he lets out a shout of triumph as Sonny groans. Brock jerks awake in his chair, blinking blearily around at the room as Ray continues to celebrate, launching into a speech.

“-see, you two just don’t have any respect for the game, that’s your problem you know that?”

Ray recites at Sonny and Trent. He's in full soapbox mode now, a look on his face the Jason recognizes which means they’re about to get a lecture on honor and loyalty and brotherhood and football. Jason’s heard it before; it’s pretty impressive, lots of good metaphors. Brock’s brow furrows in confusion he sits up and spits Clay’s projectile out into his hand. 

“Hey,” he asks, looking over at Clay and Jason suspiciously, “Why’s there popcorn in my mouth? I don’t even like popcorn.”

They’re saved from having to answer by the sound of buzzing that fills the room as everyone’s phones go off in their pockets. Jason slides his out and glances at the screen before looking back to Brock, 

“Looks like that’s a mystery we’ll have to investigate at a later date, sorry man. Alright everyone games over. Let’s go!” 

He calls over the sound of the TV commentators and Ray’s monologue, clapping his hands together for emphasis.

“Aw come on, right in the middle of third quarter? That’s just wrong.”

Ray complains as they start to stand and collect their things. 

“Yeah, sure is rude of terrorists not to respect the game day schedule. We should have a chat with them about that next time we see ‘em.”

Sonny drawls mockingly, but Ray just waves him off as he switches off the TV. Naima emerges from the bedroom carrying RJ, walks over to where Ray is grabbing his bag. 

“Did you get spun up?” 

She asks, as Ray leans down to kiss her. 

“Yeah baby, sorry to leave you with the mess.”

He replies gently, moving a strand of hair away from her face, but she just shakes her head. 

“It’s alright, Jameelah’ll be home soon from soccer camp, I’ll have her help clean up. Just stay safe, alright,” She looks around the room, “All of you.”

There’s a chorus of yes ma’ams and she smiles, adjusting RJ on her hip as Ray leans in to plant a kiss on his small forehead. 

“Tell Jam I love her for me, and to watch out for her defense.” 

Ray continues, and Naima nods.

“Of course, now get going. I love you.” 

“Love you too, ” 

Ray whispers back as he leans down for a last kiss. Jason has to look away, a sudden ache rising in his chest, but he breathes through it. Now’s not the time to think about what he hasn’t had for a long time. They start to file out of the living room, Sonny and Trent going at it about something, and Jason moves to follow them when he feels a hand at his elbow and turns to see Naima. There’s a concerned expression on her face and she waits until she’s sure the other guys are out of the room to say anything. 

“Hey, keep an eye on Ray out there for me? Something’s off with him, I’m worried.” 

Jason sighs,

“You know I will, but he’s tough Naima, he’ll pull through whatever this is alright? He always does.” 

“Yeah, I know, just…Just bring him home.”

She asks, hugging RJ close and resting her cheek against his head. Jason nods, putting a reassuring hand over hers.

“Always. Look, I gotta going. Try not to worry, alright? Be back before you know it.” 

Naima nods, whispers a goodbye. Jason glances back as he walks out of the room to see her gently bouncing RJ in her arms, that look of concern not totally gone from her face, and feels a seed of unease start to grow in his stomach. 

By the time he catches up with the rest of the team Brock and Trent are already pulling out of the driveway. Jason gave Sonny a ride here since his bike’s in the shop and he was going to offer to drive him to base, but it looks Clay’s already beat him to the punch, the two of them getting into Clay’s car. He smiles to himself, swinging his keys around his finger as he walks to his truck. When he’d first drafted Clay to Bravo his biggest hope for the two of them was just that they’d be able to tolerate each other, he would have never guessed they’d be best friends. Not that either of them would ever admit to that. 

Jason’s the last to arrive to the briefing, and he pours himself a cup of coffee as he walks into the conference room, ambling over to take a seat beside Ray, glancing around the room. There’s the usual crowd, a couple of Alpha guys and cake-eaters, Davis, but one person in particular is absent. Frowning a little he turns to Blackburn. 

“Where’s Mandy, she not briefing us on the op?”

Blackburn shakes his head. 

“Mandy’s out of country at the moment. This particular target package was created by Matthew Russell off the Africa desk. He’ll be leading the briefing.” 

He gestures to a tall thin man in his mid-thirties standing chatting to an officer at the front of the room. He looks pretty much like every other CIA spook Jason’s worked with in his career, bland and unassuming. Not very threatening, right up until they stab you in the back. Jason just lets out a noncommittal hum, leaning back in his chair and taking a sip of his coffee. Blackburn gives him a look as he stands, leaning down to say quietly, 

“Behave yourself.” Straightening he turns to the rest of the room, clapping his hands together. “Alright folks if everyone could gather around we’re going to get this started. I’m going to turn the floor over to Matthew Russell who’s been working with AFRICOM, he’ll explain the situation.”

Russell inclines his head, stepping forward. 

“Thank you Lieutenant Commander Blackburn. Now, as we all know South Sudan has been engaged in civil war almost as long as it’s existed. There are more then a dozen parties involved in the conflict, including several rebel militias.” 

He clicks a button on the remote he’s holding and the screen at the front of the room turns on, displaying a map of South Sudan, divided into segments with bright dotted lines. To say South Sudan is a mess would be an understatement; it looks like a kid went to town on it with colored markers. 

“One of those militias is the SPLM-IO, a rebel group that split from the Sudanese People’s Liberation Movement in 2013.” Russell says, “They’re also allegedly backed by the Sudanese government, but officially there’s no confirmation of that. The SPLM-IO is known for it’s brutal military tactics, especially the recruitment and use of child soldiers.”

Jason winces. He hates it when kids are involved. It always makes him think about Mikey with a gun in his hands. Russell continues on, clicking another button and the slides switch to show a blurry picture of a Sudanese man in ragged fatigues. There’s a ragged scar running down one cheek, looks like a frag injury maybe. 

“This is Abdo Mubarek. He’s a top lieutenant in the SPLM-IO, and one of their most aggressive. He also hates westerners. He’s responsible for several attacks against UN forces in South Sudan, as well as other NGO’s. Most recently he ordered an attack on an aid station in the Latjoor region of South Sudan which killed six aid workers, including three American nationals.” 

The next slide is three headshots, two women and a man. They’re all smiling and excited and now very much dead, as the gory picture beside the photos show. Jason sighs, exchanges a glance with Ray. He’s got a lot of respect for the people who put themselves in the middle of warzones when they don’t have to just to help people, but the number of missions they’ve gone on to pick up their pieces when it goes wrong tells an ugly story. Russell pauses, glancing around the room.

“Officially, the US military is staying out of South Sudan, offering only equipment and advice but-”

“But you can’t let Mubarek just get away with schwacking American’s like a hunter on the first day of rabbit season.” 

Sonny finishes, casually flipping open the dossier in front of him and glancing it over. Russell gives him a tight smile. 

“Well I would have put it a little more delicately, but yes. We also want the intel he has. He’s got links to the ISA, helped set up some training camps in the region for the group. Two days ago, an asset saw him entering this building-” He pauses to change the slide again “-just outside of the town of Kongor, it’s rare for him to leave SPLM-IO territory in the Upper Nile, making this possibly our only chance to snag the guy. Understand, this is a delicate situation politically. There are not supposed to be any US boots on the ground in South Sudan, so there can be zero footprint, you understand me?”

Jason nods, eyeing the building in the photo warily.

“Yeah, indig clothes, vehicles. Low profile, got it. We going to have ISR?’

Blackburn steps in, shaking his head.

“That’s a negative. South Sudan has banned all use of drones in their airspace by foreign military.”

Jason frowns, this op is quickly becoming a logistical nightmare. 

“Just to be clear,” Clay pitches in, “You got actual proof that the HVT’s still in that building?”

Russell directs a sharp look at Clay.

“Unfortunately, it is very difficult to get photographs in South Sudan. The government has strict restrictions on the use of cameras and my-” 

“So you’re saying you don’t,” 

Clay interrupts, that little half smile he only gets when he’s about to be a little shit dancing at his lips. Jason settles in for the show, it’s nice to have Clay directing his constant need to question authority at someone else for a change. The agent frowns, obviously irritated. 

“No. But my source is trustworthy. If he says he’s there he’s there.” 

“Alright, sure. So how many tangos we looking at in the building beside Mubarek? Guy like that probably doesn’t travel without an entourage.” 

Clay continues, voice smugly needling. Russell’s frown deepens, carving sharp lines along his nose and mouth. He takes a deep breath.

“Mubarek has two bodyguards who travel with him at all times, and intel has shown at least six fighting age males exit and enter the building, however the exact number traveling with him is unclear.” 

“Okay, so you don’t know that either? Anything you do know that you want to share?”

Clay replies. Jason can’t say he doesn’t enjoy watching Russell’s face turn a pleasing shade of pink. 

“Listen, my job is to give you a target, your job is execute it, _not_ to question my intel.” 

Russell says, voice dangerously tight. Blackburn cuts in, 

“Agent Russell, Spenser’s just trying to assess the situation here and get the full picture. I’m sure there was no disrespect meant.”

The last part is said as a warning, but Clay’s still gearing up to say something else that will probably drive the Russell’s blood pressure unhealthily high. Jason finally intervenes before Clay’s mouth can get him into even more trouble. 

“Listen, all due respect, but my guy has a point. I mean, no ISR, no confirmation of the target, no solid number of enemy. No QRF. You gotta see why it makes us nervous.”

Russell sighs, pinching at the bridge of his nose for a second. Seems like he’s got a Spenser-induced headache. Jason relates, he’s had more then his fair share of those. 

“I…I understand your concerns. But the op has already been green lit. D.C. wants Mubarek, and we’re going to get him.” 

Jason resists the urge to grimace. Politics and war never go well together he’s found. Still, orders are orders and Jason’s not one to back down from a challenge. 

“Yeah. Okay. We’ll make it work.”

Russell watches him carefully, grey eyes flat, and smiles thinly.

“I’m sure you will.”

And if Jason didn’t know better he’d say that sounded like a threat. Before he has time to mull on that for too long Blackburn steps forward,

“Alright, get your gear stowed. Wheels are up in two hours.” 


	2. Chapter Two

The C-17’s engines hum loudly, the web seating behind Jason’s back vibrating. Usually he’d find it comforting, familiar, but right now it just grates at his nerves. The rest of the guys are passed out, it’s a long flight to Africa, but he’s still up. He’s been trying to sleep for a while now with no luck. All of his good mood from earlier in the day has dissipated, leaving behind a gnawing sense of unease. He doesn’t know what’s eating at him so much, sure the intel is shaky and he definitely doesn’t trust Russell as far as he can throw him, but they’ve gone worse places with less. Maybe it’s what Naima said, just before he left. He glances up at Ray, sitting across from him, but he’s sleeping peacefully, arms folded and chin on his chest. He sighs, rubbing at his face. Whatever it is, he has a bad feeling about this mission. One that isn’t going away. 

He finally dozes off after another half hour so, but his sleep is restless and when Blackburn’s hand on his shoulder wakes him he feels just as tired as when he racked out. 

“I’m up.”

He says, opening his eyes slowly. Grimacing a little he shifts, sleeping in the web seats is always murder on his joints. 

“Briefing for the op in five.”

Blackburn says quietly, moving on down the line. Jason wipes a hand at gritty eyes, yawning, before standing and wandering over to the front of the plane where the rest of Bravo has started to gather. Ray gives him a nod when he joins them, but doesn’t say anything. 

“Alright,” Blackburn starts, sticking his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “The Ethiopian’s are letting us stage out of an ENDF base a couple clicks over the border. We’ve secured two indig vehicles on the ground for you, you’ll be driving through the border into South Sudan and to the target.” 

Glancing down Jason eyes the grainy black and white satellite pictures of the target house laid out across the top of the cargo pallet they’re standing around. It’s small and nondescript, two stories, and standing opposite to a small cluster of dusty looking buildings. 

“Looks like the surrounding structures are abandoned, means we don’t have to worry about getting clocked on entry. I say we breach here, and here,” Clay says, tapping the photos to illustrate his point, “then clear towards each other. That way we cover all the exits, if Mubarek tries to squirt he’ll have nowhere to run.”

Jason nods, folding his arms across his chest. 

“Yeah, works for me. Good call kid.”

“What about the second floor?”

Trent asks. Jason shrugs. 

“We clear up, pin ‘em where they can’t get away.” 

“Remember, there will be no ISR, and no QRF if you run into trouble so keep this tight and keep your heads down. Once you get Mubarek you get the hell out of dodge. I don’t think I need to remind that it will not be a good look if the U.S. is caught with operators in South Sudan.”

Blackburn reminds, warningly.

“Yeah, once we grab the HVT, we get him in the trucks and haul ass for the Ethiopian border, gone before daylight. Got it. Don’t worry, Russell’ll get his guy.” 

Jason says, clapping him on the shoulder. Tries to sound more confident then he feels. 

They jock up on the plane. The guys are messing around like they usually do before a mission, but Jason can’t bring himself to join in. Ray notices, because when does Ray not notice, and he gets Jason when he’s alone. 

“Hey, you’ve been awful quiet. Something up?”

Jason tightens the strap of his vest, shrugs. Stares across the plane to where Russell is pacing back and forth, talking animatedly on a SAT phone with someone. 

“No, nothing’s up.”

Ray follows his gaze, sighs. 

“This about Russell? Look, I don’t like the man either Jase but you gotta admit you want Mubarek. Guy’s a real peace of work.” 

Jason grimaces, shaking his head. 

“It’s-it’s not the target. It’s about who’s giving it to us. I don’t trust him Ray, I mean we both know the intel on this is patchy, why’s he pushing so hard for it? There’s something he’s not telling us…” 

“Well, we’re going in one way or another brother. So make sure your head’s where it should be, huh?”

Ray says, watching him a little carefully. Funny that, since it should be the other way around. Jason wrinkles his nose, watches Russell for a second longer before turning away and shaking himself. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good.” 

When they touch down in Ethiopia it’s just getting to be dusk. The sun is sinking down below the horizon line, dying the sky a bloody red. Sonny eyes it suspiciously as they walk down the C-17’s ramp, swinging his gear over his shoulder. 

“Red sky at sunset’s bad luck, somebody’s gonna bite the dust tonight boys.”

He says, chewing at the toothpick hanging out of his mouth. 

“Pretty sure it’s the other way around, dumbass.”

Brock replies mildly, squinting against the evening light. Sonny glares at him, 

“Did I ask you Reynolds? ‘Cause I don’t remember asking you.”

Ray shakes his head, sighing. 

“He’s right you know, it’s red sky at night sailors delight, red sky in morning sailor’s warning. If you want to get into it this is actually a good sign.” 

“You sure you’re actually in the Navy Sonny?”

Clay asks, laughing. Sonny flips him off, sticking out a leg to try and trip him up. Clay hops over with it ease, shoving Sonny to the side before breaking into a light jog to catch up to Ray and Brock. Jason rolls his eyes, his guys might be Tier One operators with years of training and experience in some of the most dangerous places under their belts, but that doesn’t mean they don’t act like children half the time. 

The drive to Kongor is long and boring. They leave after the sun sets, which means there’s no scenery to look at. The only thing that punctuates the silent darkness as they bump over pockmarked roads is Sonny singing over the comms from the other vehicle. 

“All my ex's live in Texas, and Texas is the place I'd dearly love to be, but all my ex's live in Texas-”

He warbles off-key, voice distorted further by the radio. Jason resists the urge to bang his head against the dashboard. 

“How long’s he been going?”

He asks with a groan, leaning back against the headrest. 

“45 godawful minutes.”

Clay says from the backseat, sounding halfway between irritated and amused. Jason knows which side of that line he’s firmly on. 

“How bad do we really need him for this op, boss.” Trent asks, guiding the car around a particularly deep pothole, “Think we could just dump him on the side of the road, tell him to hitchhike back to Ethiopia?”

Jason shakes his head. 

“Don’t tempt me Trent.” 

“Hey, could be worse. We could be trapped in a car with him.” 

Clay says dryly. As if on cue Ray’s voice filters over the radio, competing with Sonny’s vocals. 

“Hey, anyone want to trade spots? We’ve got a slight noise issue in our vehicle”

Sonny finally, blessedly, pauses his impromptu concert. 

“Aw, come on now, George Strait is an American hero.” 

“Yeah, it’s not about George Strait, Sonny, it’s about your delivery. You sound like someone’s torturing a cat.” 

Clay replies, a smile in his voice. 

“Y’all are really startin’ to hurt my feelings, you know.” 

“Well if it gets you to shut up then I’m good with that.”

Ray snaps. Jason exchanges a look with Trent, chuckling. Of course, though, hurting his feelings does not get Sonny to shut up. If only it were that easy.

“Alright, stop me if you’ve heard this one boys-“ 

He says, before launching into a rendition of Screw You, We’re from Texas. If anything Jason thinks he’s might be singing louder. Clay smirks suddenly, eyes lighting up, and keys his comms. 

“Hey, Jase, you ever heard of the Camel Spider?”

Clay calls, loudly enough to be heard over Sonny’s wailing. Jason catches on quick.

“That the spider that’s as big as your hand, two inch long fangs? I’ve heard of it. Pretty venomous too, right?”

Immediately Sonny falls silent, breaking off midway through a verse. Clay keeps going, grinning widely now. 

“That’s the one. Heard the bite hurts pretty darn bad, then once they bite you they got this enzyme in their spit that starts to dissolve your flesh so they can eat it.” 

There’s a nervous silence from the other car, before Sonny asks tentatively. “Those, uh, those live around here?”

“Oh yeah, you can find them all over Africa, the Middle East. Heard that they like dark, enclosed spaces too, sneak into cars and trucks all the time to get out of the sun.”

Clay answers, almost gleefully. Sonny remains carefully, blessedly, silent for the rest of the car ride and Jason reminds himself to buy Clay a drink once they get back to the states. 

They roll past the outskirts of Kongor without issue, and from there it’s about fifteen minutes till they reach their target. As they get closer everybody settles down, focusing in as the mood shifts, Trent and Brock killing the lights on their respective vehicles. Jason tries to push away the unease that still circles at the edges of his mind. Whether or not he trusts Russell there’s nothing to do about it now, and the best way to ensure this goes without a hitch is to be 100% in the moment. Three feet wide. 

They park the vehicles around the corner of an abandoned shack down the block from the safe house before clambering out, gathering in a small circle behind the body of one of the trucks. 

“Alright boys, stay down, stay quiet. Time to show this CIA asshole what Bravo’s made of huh?” 

“Hell yeah.”

Sonny whispers eagerly, and there’s a quiet round of nods. 

“Good. Remember, only easy day was yesterday. Now let’s get her done.”

Jason finishes, flipping his NOD’s down and switching them on. Blinking a few times as his eyes adjust to the ghostly green of night vision. Around him everyone else does the same, running last minute equipment checks. 

“HAVOC, this is Bravo One, passing Starsky. Heads on a swivel boys.”

Jason whispers, and then they’re off, quietly gliding through the dark streets. There’s no movement, aside from them, no sound except for the quiet whisper of a slight breeze and a few far off animal calls. It makes him nervous, that kind of quiet. It usually means something’s about to happen. When they reach the building they break into two teams, Ray taking Trent and Sonny and moving to the breach point on the opposite side of the building.

“Spenser, set the breaching charges.”

Jason whispers, keeping his eyes on the open street in front of them. Clay obeys, pulling the tape out of his ruck and starting to lay it down. Their breach point is the front door, which faces directly into the street. Beside him Brock kneels, rifle up as he holds security. Jason keys his radio, 

“Two, this is one. Let us know when you’re ready to go, we’ll move in on my call.” 

“Copy that one,” Ray replies after a second. “Our charges are set.”

Jason glances back at Clay who gives him a thumbs up, moving away from the door. Jason takes a deep breath, feeling the adrenaline running through his system, harnessing it. Letting out his breath he adjusts his grip, 

“Execute execute execute!” 

He hisses. Clay pops the charge with a loud bang, and half a second later an accompanying one echoes from across the building. Clay swings into the building first, and Jason follows, tapping Brock’s shoulder as he moves through the doorway. 

“Last man.”

The inside of the building is as rundown as the outside looks, broken furniture dots the entry and trash litters the floor. They clear the first room quickly; moving through to the next, which is similarly, eerily, empty. Jason’s gut curls a little. They should’ve have encountered something by now, unless these guys are complete idiots there would be some sort of watch or guard. In his ear Ray announces his team has cleared their first room as well. 

The next room is empty too, and now the unease is back stronger then ever. Clay looks back at him, and he can tell he’s thinking the same thing. There should be something here. 

“Heading for the second floor,” 

Rays crackles in his ear, and Jason shoots back a confirmation. It only takes them a few more seconds to clear the rest of the building, meeting Ray and the others in the middle. There’s nothing, except for dust and junk. It certainly doesn’t look like a place anybody’s been using anytime recently. 

He exchanges a glance with Ray before keying his radio, 

“HAVOC, this is Bravo One. We do not have jackpot, the HVT isn’t here.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think the moment Brock truly cemented his place in my heart was when he casually and unflinchingly called Sonny a dumbass at the end of season two. What a hero.


	3. Chapter Three

“Bravo One, say again your last?”

Blackburn says. Jason grimaces, looking around the room like Mubarek is just going to pop into existence if he searches hard enough. Unfortunately, their target obeys the laws of physics and stays gone. 

“I repeat, we do not have jackpot, there’s no one here. Place is empty.”

There’s a second of empty air, and then Blackburn replies. 

“Good copy Bravo Six, hold for further instructions.”

Right, hold for further instructions. Russell’s probably shitting his pants right now, trying to figure out who screwed him. Not that he has any sympathy for him, the agent made his own bed on this one. Shaking his head Jason turns to his team, 

“Alright, Brock, pull security. Everyone else lets do a sweep, look for phones, computers, anything. See if we can get something out of this. Let’s go!” 

Everyone nods, starts to move as Brock takes up a position in the front window, facing the buildings across the street. Ray walks over, one hand resting on the mags in his vest. 

“What are you thinking?”

Jason sighs, scratching his forehead. 

“I’m thinking Russell’s intel was spotty as hell, and this has been a big waste of everyone’s time. For all we know Mubarek was never even here and his asset was just throwing names at a wall and seeing what stuck.” He grimaces, starting to pace. “Something’s not adding up here, Ray. I mean, this level of intel, it shouldn’t have been enough to activate tier one assets. Why the hell are we here, risking a political shitstorm over, over a couple of dead aid workers, American’s or not. South Sudan isn’t our fight.”

Ray nods, runs a hand down his beard. 

“Yeah, I’m starting to agree with you. This whole thing smells fishy, especially the way D.C. is pushing it. But we get the orders we get and we run with them Jase, you know that. Isn’t our fault if the orders are built on bad intel.”

Jason sighs again.

“Yeah, yeah. I do. You’re right. Just pisses me off. Last thing this team needed was to get shipped all the way to Africa for a bullshit op that’s probably just some junior CIA agent trying to put a feather in his cap. ”

Ray snorts, shaking his head. 

“Believe me brother, if I got dragged away in the middle of the third quarter for nothing I’m going to be pissed too.”

Jason laughs a little, trying to let go of the irritation. Still, that knot of unease doesn’t go away completely. Stays coiled in his stomach like a snake waiting for the right moment to strike. 

“Hey, boss, come look at this.”

Clay calls, waving him over to the far corner of the room where there’s a rickety looking table and some chairs set up. Jason exchanges a glance with Ray, walks over. 

“You got something kid?”

Clay clicks on his headlight, keeping it low so it doesn’t reflect out the window and gestures to the table. 

“This place is dusty as hell, but there’s clear patches here- and here.” He says, pointing to spots on the surface of the table. “Looks like they were moving stuff around, could have been a laptop.” 

Jason frowns, squinting a little. Sure enough, the rest of the table is covered in a fine layer of dust and dirt, but in the places Clay pointed out it’s clean. He looks back to Clay, feeling a hint of pride forming in his chest. 

“Alright, so, someone was here, but they cleared out.” 

“Yeah, and recently enough that the dust hasn’t settled back in. Think they knew we were coming?”

Ray adds. Jason nods, slaps Clay on the shoulder.

“Seems like it. Good catch.”

He’s just moving to update HAVOC when Brock calls from the window, 

“Boss, got movement outside.” 

Jason moves over to the window, Ray and Clay close at his heels, staying low. 

“What’re you seeing?” 

Jason asks quietly. Brock glances over to him briefly, keeping his HK416 pointed out the window. 

“At least two shooters in windows across the street, maybe more.” 

Jason moves to look over the ledge of the window, and that’s exactly when all hell breaks lose. 

Bullets begin to batter the walls of the building, shattering the still cool silence of the night. Jason ducks down, keeping his head low as pieces of plaster and siding fly, everyone starting to scramble for cover. Clay stays by him, while Ray dives towards the next window over. Brock returns fire from his position, bobbing up above the windowsill to get a shot before dropping back down when a stray bullet almost takes off an ear. He looks to Jason, curls bouncing wildly. 

“There’s a lot more then two shooters, boss.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m starting to get that picture, thanks Brock.”

Jason says breathlessly. From the next room over where he’d been sweeping for electronics Sonny calls out, voice interrupted by the sound of his weapon firing. 

“I got at least five tangoes advancing on our position from the north side Jase, we’re gettin’ flanked here.” 

Jason peeks over the windowsill, trying to get a read on the situation. The previously empty street is now alight with activity, men popping up in nearly every window in the buildings across the street and bullets streaking like fireflies across his night vision. 

“Where the hell are these guys coming from.”

He hisses, keying his comms. 

“HAVOC, this is Bravo one, troops in contact. I repeat troops in contact, we are taking heavy fire at our current position.” 

Blackburn responds almost immediately. 

“Bravo one we read you Lima Charlie, we are attempting to ascertain the location and number of combatants. Can you exfil?”

“Negative, we’re pinned down here.” 

Jason bites out between bursts of gunfire, barrel of his rifle growing hot even through his gloves. 

“Boss, they’ve got a rocket launcher, looks like a JTB-7S!” 

Trent calls urgently, just before a loud crash rocks the upper level of the house and plaster comes raining down on their heads. 

“Take em out, someone take out the RPG!” 

Jason shouts back, all need for quiet abandoned. Before any of them can respond though a dull boom echoes down the street, followed by a sudden stream of fire that rises high enough to be seen from their position. Clay looks over at him, face grim and eyes wide as he pulls a mag out of his vest to reload. 

“Pretty sure that was our rides out of here.”

Jason nods, before getting on his radio again. 

“HAVOC, the enemy has RPG’s, they just took out our vehicles. We’re not going to be able to hold out much longer against this kind of firepower, requesting a helo exfil.” 

“Jase, it’s almost daylight. We got half an hour of dark left tops, they’re not gonna want to send in a bird.”

Ray says, crouching down beside him. His dark hair is covered in powdery white dust from the ceiling, and there’s a smear of dirt across his cheek. Jason grimaces. 

“Yeah, yeah I know. But we don’t have any other options, if we stay here we’re going to be overrun and we have no way to exfil. Fuck, I knew Russell was an idiot, I’m going to kick his ass for this.” 

After what feels like an eternity but is probably only a few minutes their comms crackle to life again. 

“Bravo one, this is HAVOC. You have been cleared for a helo extract, but the pilots won’t fly into a hot LZ. If As soon as you can confirm the RPG’s are out of play they’ll head in.”

Blackburn’s voice echoes, and Jason feels something unclench a little in his stomach. 

“Copy that HAVOC. We’ll let you know when the LZ is clear.” 

“Those candyass pilots, we’re gettin’ our nuts handed to us on a plate and they’re too chicken to take a little heat.”

Sonny snaps loudly, standing to lay down a spray of fire out the window with his MP7. 

“Sonny, cool it. Does anybody have eyes on where that RPG came from?”

Jason asks, raising his voice to be heard over the gunfire and trying to see where his guys are spread out along the first floor. Clay, Brock, and Ray are all clustered near him in the first room, and Trent and Sonny are still over in the secondary living quarters where they’d been doing their sweep. 

There’s a chorus of negatives and Jason curses. Of course it couldn’t be that easy. 

“Jase,” Ray says, “Let me go up to the second floor, I should be able to get a better angle from there.”

It’s true, but Jason doesn’t like it. Moving to the stairs and up to the isolated second floor puts Ray in a vulnerable position, especially if the building takes another RPG hit. His promise to Naima echoes hauntingly in the back of his head, but he doesn’t see another option. If they don’t take out the RPG, then there’s no exfil and they’re as good as dead meat. 

“Fine,” he says after a moment’s hesitation. “Take Trent, we’ll cover you. Trent, you’re on Ray, go!”

“Copy that.”

Trent responds, and then he’s moving from the other room, staying low and falling in behind Ray as they head for the stairs. Jason, Clay and Ray push up, laying down a heavy burst of fire to cover them as they pass through the center of the room. Ray’s voice comes over the comms a few seconds later, sounding breathless. 

“In position, got eyes on our guy.” 

“Copy that, take him down Bravo two.” 

Jason replies, popping up to get a few rounds out. A man who’d been inching his way across the street towards them goes down in a spray of pink mist and Jason kneels again with a sense of grim satisfaction. Beside him Clay ducks down below the sill of the window, ejecting a used clip from the barrel and scrabbling through the pockets of his TAC vest for another magazine. There’s a short curse as he comes up empty, tinged with frustration. Wordlessly Jason reaches into his vest and slips out one of his own, handing it down to him. Clay takes it, shooting Jason grateful smile before jamming the mag in. Spinning he rests the barrel on the sill once more, stock tucked into the crook of his shoulder as he carefully sights down the barrel and resumes firing. 

“Bravo two, I need a sitrep. What’s going on up there.”

Jason asks, as the wall he’s sheltering against shakes with the force of the bullets raining into it. Outside the first rays of sunlight are starting to crest the horizon, sending faint streaks of light across the floor. 

“Give me thirty seconds.”

Ray replies, tone even and focused. Jason waits. A few seconds later, and Ray’s voice comes back on the comms, triumphant now. 

“Alright, RPG is down. Head back to you.” 

Jason lets out a long breath. 

“Copy that one. HAVOC, this is six, RPG is confirmed down you’re clear to send the helo.”

“Copy that six, sending helo your way. ETA is twelve mikes.” 

Jason grins, adjusting his helmet. 

“Alright boys, looks like we’re getting out of here after all.” He calls, “Sonny get your ass in here, lets prep for exfil.”

Sonny obeys, firing off a last burst through his window before booking it over to regroup with them. Behind him Jason hears the stairs creak and looks over his shoulder to see Ray and Trent reaching the landing. Everyone’s in one piece. This’ll just be another story to tell in a little while, another close call that wasn’t their last call. Biggest thing he’ll have to worry about is keeping himself from clocking Russell the next time he sees him. 

Something small and round and dark arcs through the shattered windowpane, just missing Jason’s shoulder. It clatters against the cracked concrete and rolls to a stop in the middle of the room. Jason spins and then blanches, heart stuttering in his chest. 

“Grenade!”

He shouts, desperate and strained, but he knows it doesn’t matter. It’s too late for them to run, too late for anything at all. Even if they could move fast enough the blast will probably take half the building down with it. Lose-lose. 

There’s a blur at his side, a flash of golden hair glints in the pale morning sunlight as Clay runs past him like a bat out of hell. He’s pulling his Kevlar helmet off as he goes, fingers fumbling clumsily at the snaps under his chin. Holding it in front of him like a football he goes down, diving forward onto the grenade and trapping it under his helmet as he curls the rest of his body around it. 

“Clay!”

The word tears itself from his throat, rasping and useless. Anything else he tries to say is lost in the roar that fills his ears as the grenade goes off. The force of the explosion sends him to the floor, elbow catching on the lintel of the window on the way down. For a second he just lays there, ears ringing and vision blurry. It’s quiet, too quiet. It takes a moment to realize it’s because the bullets have stopped. Probably because the enemy think they’re all dead. They all should be dead. They aren’t though, because of- the last few seconds suddenly play themselves out in his head and he jerks up, eyes searching. 

Clay’s lying face down on the floor in the middle of the room, limbs splayed haphazardly. He’s not moving.


	4. Chapter Four

Something terrible blooms in Jason’s chest, cold and unforgiving. Distantly he can hear Blackburn shouting in his ear, asking for a radio check, but he doesn’t reply, brain still trying to catch up with his body. Ray, and thank god for Ray, steps in. He answers, sounding a little dazed. 

“HAVOC, this is Bravo two. Frag got tossed through the window, we’re, uh,” He swallows, “Bravo six took the hit.” 

Blackburn’s voice comes back, and there’s only the slightest hesitation before he asks,

“Good copy Bravo two. What is six’s status.” 

“Six’s status is…unconfirmed.”

The words feel like a punch to the stomach, and for a second Jason can’t breath. Tuning out Blackburn’s response and pushing away Ray’s hands he pulls himself up, half crawling half stumbling towards Clay’s body. He can feel Ray follow behind him, a warm presence at his back, but he ignores it. When he gets close to Clay he falls to his knees, struggling to keep himself upright as his ears ring unrelentingly. 

Reaching out he heaves Clay towards him, onto his back. Looks away. He hears Ray curse low and hard. Clay’s chest looks like mince meat, TAC vest hanging in shreds and more lacerations then Jason can count. There are pieces of shattered helmet dug into his skin like a gory puzzle, and the lower right side of his stomach is a gaping bloody pit. Underneath the blood he’s pale. He should be dead, he _might_ be dead. He’s going to be dead if they don’t do something quickly. 

Taking a deep breath Jason forces himself forward, fingers stumbling to Clay’s neck to feel for a pulse. It’s there, weak and thready but beating. He heaves a shaky sigh, tries to ignore the way his fingers tremble as relief threatens to overwhelm him. 

“He’s got a pulse.”

He says, voice low, almost disbelieving. Trent’s appeared at his side from somewhere, already swinging his ruck off his back, digging through it for the aid pack. Jason glances over his shoulder, finally checking on the rest of the team. Nobody else looks hurt badly, Brock’s made it to a window, taking up a defensive position. He keeps looking back at them; face pale except for a jagged cut across his forehead dripping blood down the side of his face. Sonny’s at the window again too, staying low but with his gun pointed out to the street. He meets Jason’s gaze, face steady but eyes glistening, and when he speaks his voice is ragged. 

“How’s he doing?”

Jason swallows. Looks down at Clay’s pale face, eyes still closed. 

“He’s gonna pull through.” he says, “Just set security till we get him fixed up to move, they’re going to realize we’re still kicking soon. Ray, help ‘em out.”

Ray nods, moves away with a last glance at Clay and a squeeze of his shoulder. Beside him Trent has an IV bag out and a Fast1, hands moving quickly and efficiently as he cuts Clay’s shirt open. 

“Here,” he says, passing the bag to Jason. “Keep this high. He’s probably got a concussion, see if you can get him talking.” 

Jason nods, taking the IV. The plastic casing is cool and slippery in his fingers and he tightens his grip, holding it above his head. With his free hand he reaches out to Clay’s face, gently tapping at his cheek. He tries not to think about how cold the kid feels, cold like a corpse. 

“Come on, time to wake up.”

He says cajolingly, when Clay doesn’t move he taps a little harder. After a few seconds Clay’s breathing speeds up a little bit, head lolling towards Jason, and he shifts uncomfortably with a soft groan.

“Yeah, that’s right, just open up your eyes for me alright?”

Clay listens, for once in his life, and his eyes flutter open blearily, shifting the grit and dirt caught in his lashes. Jason smiles weakly, keeping the IV bag high. Clay barely flinches when Trent jams the IO into his chest. 

“Hey there buddy, have a nice nap?”

Clay swallows, throat working. 

“Is everyone okay?”

He whispers, voice cracked and dry. Jason nods, resisting the slightly hysterical urge to laugh. 

“Yeah, thanks to you. I see what you’re doing, trying to be a hero. Makes the rest of us look bad you know.”

Clay smiles, or tries to. His lips stretch tight across his face in something that could be a grin. Underneath his teeth are bloody. They always made fun of him for his teeth, white and straight and perfect. Movie star smile they called it, poster boy. Doesn’t look so pretty anymore. Jason’s stomach turns and he resists the urge to look away, keeps his eyes locked on Clay’s sweaty ashen face. 

“Don’t have to try.”

Clay grits out, like every word costs him. It probably does. He starts to shift again, eyes drifting down to where Trent’s pressing compression bandages down on the worst of the bleeders. It’s ridiculous, even Jason can see that, patching bullet holes with band-aids, but there’s nothing else they can do. Band-aids will have to be enough for now. 

“It’s pretty bad-isn’t it.”

He whispers, and it’s not really a question. Jason shakes his head, presses his fingers into Clay’s cheek till he looks up at him again. 

“Come on, don’t look there, look at me. You’re gonna be fine, alright? You’re gonna be fine. ”

Clay nods, eyes slipping closed. Jason moves his hand down from Clay’s cheek to his neck, thumb pressing up under his chin to keep his head steady. He can feel Clay’s pulse under his palm, still fast and faint but also still beating. He swallows, shakes him a little. 

“Dammit Clay, come on, open your eyes. No sleeping on the job.” 

Slowly, painfully Clay’s lids open, flagging at half-mast. It’s good enough. 

“Good job, just keep ‘em open now okay, keep looking at me.”

At the window there’s the sound of gunfire again, bullets sending up sprays of wood where they bite into the windowsill. Sonny returns fire, calls out behind him, 

“Hey, guys, think they figured out we ain’t dead yet. We gotta move soon.”

Jason nods and looks to Trent, hoping to find some sort of comfort there. Instead he’s greeted with a sort of tightly controlled panic he’s only seen on Trent’s face a handful of times before. It makes his blood run cold. The last time was when Nate bled out of his neck sluggishly onto the rubber bottom of their RHIB. His stomach flips uncomfortably, and he hasn’t to remind himself this is different because Nate, Nate was already gone. Clay’s still fighting. Pushing down the memory he centers himself in the moment. Three feet wide, he tells himself, three feet wide.

“You almost done?”

Trent jerks his head once choppily. 

“Yeah. Just give me a minute here.”

Jason doesn’t know if they have a minute. Doesn’t know if they have time at all. Another grenade could roll in any second, and this time there’ll be no one stupid enough (brave enough) to dive on it. But he looks down at Clay’s pinched face and Trent’s bloody hands and the way Sonny keeps glancing back at them with that gutted look like someone’s just kicked his dog, and knows they will make a minute. They’ll make as many minutes as they have to to get Clay home. His palms are sweaty, left hand slipping on the slick surface of the IV bag and he readjusts his grip. 

“So, anybody ever jump on a grenade before?”

Clay asks, voice catching in his throat. Jason shakes his head, smiles despite himself.

“Nope, you get the great honor of being the first Bravo guy to jump on a goddamn grenade. I think that’s worth a case of beer, a bottle of tequila, right Trent?”

Trent snorts, tearing open another pack of Quikclot bandages. His bloody fingers leave smears on the white. 

“Yeah,” He says, starting to pack the gauze into the gaping hole in Clay’s stomach. Jason feels Clay flinch under his fingers, lets his grip tighten just a little. “Yeah, I’d say so. Maybe even two bottles.”

“You hear that? We owe you a case of beer, Clay, gotta survive to collect.”

Clay laughs, then wheezes, curling up a little bit as he tries to get a breath in, eyes widening in panic. Jason presses him back down, frowning. 

“Hey, hey man what’s going on talk to me.”

Clay doesn’t though, Jason doesn’t think he can. Instead he wheezes again, coughing a little, and when he stops there’s bloody froth on his lips, dripping into his beard. Jason curses, glances down at his medic. 

“Trent, he can’t breathe, why can’t he breathe.”

Trent frowns, eyebrows furrowed, then leans down putting his ear near Clay’s chest. He stays there for a second, like he’s listening for something, straightens up again. 

“I think shrapnel from the helmet’s punctured his chest wall, it’s sucking in air, but the air is getting trapped and collapsing his lung. That’s what’s causing the respiratory distress.”

He rattles out tersely, eyebrows furrowing. 

“Okay.” Jason says, letting go of Clay’s neck for a second to wipe at the sweat building on his face. “Okay, is there something we can do?” 

Between them Clay’s chest continues to heave frantically, breath rasping weakly in his throat. There’s more blood on his lips. Trent nods.

“Yeah. We gotta stop the air from entering his chest, slow down the collapse. I can do it, I just need two minutes.” 

Behind them bullets continue to fly, Brock and Ray and Sonny doing their best to hold off the tide. There’s so many what-if’s there. What if the procedure doesn’t work, what if they don’t have a few minutes, what if they can’t get Clay out in time to save him. Trent looks at him, deadly serious. Jason doesn’t think he’s ever seen Trent look quite like this, even when he put his fingers to Nate’s neck and looked Jason in the eyes and told him he was gone. Jason wonders if he’s thinking of that moment too, while another teammate bleeds out under his hands. 

“Jase, I can do it, I can save his life. Two minutes. Please.”

He’s almost begging, and Jason can feel the rest of his team’s eyes on his back. Can feel their fear and their anger and their hope. They have to try, Jason thinks, because he can’t watch any more of his friends die in front of him. He twists back to the rest of the team.

“Sonny, Brock, Ray, I need you to give us two.”

Sonny frowns, lips thin under his beard. 

“Jase-”

Jason shakes his head. He hates to be this person right now, but Clay’s still bleeding and not breathing and he doesn’t have a choice.

“Two minutes.”

He repeats, and he’s not asking. Sonny glances down to Clay, swallows convulsively, nods. 

“We got it boss, just get our boy fixed up.”

Ray say, and his steady voice gives Jason something to hold on too. He looks back to Trent, 

“Alright, what do you need.”

Trent sits back on his heels, jerking his head at Jason. 

“Switch with me, keep pressure on these bleeders. I gotta grab something from my bag.”

Jason nods. Leaning down he cups Clay’s face in his hands, fingers insistent on his cheeks. 

“Trent’s gotta go find something to save your stupid ass okay, he’ll be right back. Just do us all a favor and keep those eyes open okay?”

Clay’s head tilts down a fraction of an inch, but Jason’ll take it. He smiles as he sits back up and switches with Trent, pressing his hands down harder on the bloody dressings covering Clay’s stomach. 

“That’s it, kid. Just hold on.”

Clay blinks, and he wheezes, and his eyes don’t close. After a few second Trent appears again, holding a package. Starting to tear it open he addresses Clay. 

“Okay Clay, I know it hurts but I need you to exhale and hold your breath for a second while I get this seal in place, it’ll help you breath better. Can you do that for me?”

Clay nods again, nearly imperceptibly, letting out a deep breath. Bending down Trent presses the occlusion dressing over the hole in Clay’s chest. Holding it in place with one hand he starts to secure the seal with medical tape, leaving one side open to vent the air. As soon as the last side of the seal is taped down Jason hears Clay’s breath start to even out a little, losing the wheezing quality. 

“Okay,” Trent says sitting back a little, voice pitched high with relief, “Okay, I think we’re good.” 

Jason nods, letting out a breath, and reaching for his radio. 

“HAVOC, where the hell is that helo?”

“Helo is three mikes out Bravo six, it’ll be touching down on the roof of the building you’re currently in so start moving upwards, it won’t be able to stay in range long.”

“Copy that.” He says, then turns back to the rest of the team. “Collapse security, we’re on the move, second floor. Ray, you see a way onto the roof when you were up there?”

Ray nods.

“Yeah, looked like there was an access hatch in the northeast corner.”

“Good. Okay let’s go, ride will be here in two.” 

“We need to get him a on a litter, might make it worse if we try to carry him.” 

Trent calls from behind them, and Jason spins on his heel, moving back to Clay. Trent’s crouched by his head, talking to him as he pulls out the litter and starts to unfold it, laying it out on the ground beside Clay. 

“-this is going to hurt, Clay, okay, but you just need to stay still and let us do the work. Got it?” 

Clay nods faintly, not even really looking at Trent, not even really looking at anything anymore. It seems like he’s barely clinging to consciousness, like he’s beyond pain. Jason’s seen that look on guys before, most of them are dead now. 

“Sonny, Ray, cover the windows, Brock come give us a hand.”

Jason orders, trying to sound calm, trying to be calm. Brock nods, running over to them and staying low. He looks like he’s a little in shock, green eyes wide in his pale face. 

“We gotta roll him,” Trent says shortly, “Careful with the neck, we don’t know what kind of spinal injuries he might have.”

They follow his directions, lifting Clay onto his slide and rolling him back down onto the litter. He lets them, barely moving through the whole process. As soon as he’s secured Jason looks back to Ray and Sonny who are still positioned at the windows.

“Alright, he’s good, lets get him out of here.” 

As they start to move, Jason just hopes that they’ll be bringing Clay home, not a coffin. 


	5. Chapter Five

They move towards the stairs, Trent and Brock carrying Clay between them. Bullets fly and ping against the walls around them but somehow, miraculously, no one gets tagged. The fire lessens a little when they make it to the second floor, harder angles to hit, but Jason knows it’s only a matter of time before the enemy repositions. Hopefully they’ll be gone before they have to worry about it. 

The access door is exactly where Ray said it would be. The only problem is the ceiling is about eight feet off the ground and while there’s signs there used to be a ladder it’s long since fallen apart. Not usually an issue, except for that they’ve got a guy in a stretcher who’s definitely not up for any sort of physical activity. 

“Okay,” Trent says, wiping at the beads of sweat on his forehead. “I’ll go up first with Brock. You hand him up to us, _carefully_.” 

Jason nods. Watches as Trent gives Brock a boost up to the ceiling so he can push the hatch open and slip out onto the roof. It’s a laborious, painful, process but between the five of them they manage to get Clay up to Trent and Brock. Jason goes up next, hopping up and pulling himself up and out of the room and into the daylight. He blinks a little against the sun after so long in the dim house, a dull roar fills his ears as their bird starts to descend towards them. Behind him Ray pulls himself up next to them, followed closely by Sonny. 

The wind from the helo’s rotors whips at their hair as they run across the roof. Jason makes it in first, pulling himself up and into the helicopter and turning to help get Clay in. Ray climbs in next to him, leaning down to grab the other side of the stretcher and heave him up. Between the two of them they get Clay situated on the floor of helo, Trent moving to his side as soon as he’s on. Sonny calls, 

“Last man,”

And then the helo starts to rise, away from the roof and the bullets and blood stains on the floor below.

“HAVOC base, this is Bravo one, we’re on the helo, RTB. We’re going to need a full med team standing by, get six to secondary care ASAP.”

Jason says into his comms, urgent and rushed. 

“Copy that one, we’ll have transport arranged for when you touch down.” 

Letting his hands fall to his lap Jason glances over to check in on where Trent’s still working on Clay. Clay’s breathing sounds like it’s getting worse again, his chest is rising and falling rapidly but he still doesn’t look like he’s getting enough air. The veins in his neck are bulging and distended, fingers scrabbling weakly at the floor. Trent presses his fingers to Clay’s pulse, frowns, curses sharply. Jason’s stomach bottoms out. 

“Sitrep?”

He yells sharply over the noise of the helo. Trent doesn’t even look at him, 

“He’s got a weak pulse, tracheal deviation, I think his lung’s fully collapsed.” 

Jason shakes his head, understanding the words but not wanting too. 

“What? I-I thought you fixed that.”

Trent shakes his head, frustration and fear obvious on his face. 

“No, I slowed it down but-fuck, I’m going to insert a chest tube, gotta get some of the air out or he’s not going to make it to the base.”

He’s pulling open the aid pack as he’s talking, starting to lay out supplies on the deck of the helo. Lifting Clay’s arm and resting it above his head he swabs the side of his ribcage down quickly. 

“Listen, we gotta hold him down, it’s gonna hurt a lot without anesthesia but he can’t move around or I might kill him.” 

Trent says hurriedly, pulling a scalpel out of its sterile packaging. Jason swallows, nods. 

“Brock, Ray, get his legs.”

He calls. He leaves Sonny out, because Sonny shouldn’t have to be near this. Shouldn’t have to hold his best friend down while Trent cuts into him, not if he doesn’t have too. Brock and Ray obey, crowding in around him and putting their weight down on his legs. Jason moves up to his head, leaning down to position his arms across Clay’s shoulders. His eyes are half open, fluttering wildly, like he can tell something’s about to happen. 

“Hey, hey, just try and stay calm, Clay, okay. Trent’s gonna help you out here, buddy, just hold on.”

He’s not sure if Clay even really registers what he’s saying, but he seems to settle a bit, breathing slowing a fraction. 

“Alright, I’m making the incision.” 

Trent says tightly. Jason feels it in Clay’s body as soon as Trent makes the cut, the muscles beneath his hands going rigid.

“I know,” Jason whispers, “I know, he’s going as fast as he can.” 

Clay doesn’t seem to hear him though, starting to buck and writhe, mouth open like he wants to scream but doesn’t have the breath too. Jason knows that combat medicine is quick and dirty, about keeping the patient alive not making sure they’re comfortable, but still. This feels like too much. Feels like torture. 

“Hold him,” Trent snaps, “I’m almost through.” 

Jason obeys, pressing down hard on Clay’s shoulders, pinning him to the floor of the helo as Trent switches the scalpel out for a pair of forceps and starts blunt force his way into Clay’s chest. Jason’s almost thankful when Clay goes limp under his hands as he passes out. After a few seconds there’s the sound of hissing air, like a teakettle that’s coming to boil, and he looks over to see a heavy stream of blood run over Trent’s hands. 

“Okay, just gotta get the tube in and I’m done.” 

He says, grabbing the plastic tubing and starting to thread it into the incision in Clay’s chest. Once it’s in, he tapes it down quickly to Clay’s side and sits back on his heels, taking a deep breath in through his nose and blowing it out through is mouth. Jason looks up at him, slowly releasing his hold on Clay’s shoulders, feeling a little numb. 

“That should hold till the hospital.”

Trent says, sounding unsettled. 

“What are his chances once he gets there?”

Jason asks, not sure if he wants to hear the answer. Trent just looks at him, face blank. Shakes his head. 

“I don’t know. Not great.” 

As Blackburn promised there’s a team waiting with a gurney waiting on the tarmac for them. As soon as they touch down they’re moving forward, reaching out for Clay. Jason and Trent slide him down to their waiting hands, careful of the chest tube running out of his side. As soon he’s on the gurney they slip an oxygen mask on his face while Trent shouts out vitals. Then they’re gone, wheeling Clay away to a waiting ambulance. 

Jason watches them go, a sense of loss already settling on his shoulders. Trent reaches up like wants to run his fingers through his hair, but stops when he remembers the blood on them. He lets his arms drop, wipes his hands off across the front of his shirt almost absentmindedly. When he turns to face them his eyes are wide and uncertain. 

“I-I tried-” He starts, stumbling over the words. “There was just so much damage.” 

Trent’s usually a rock, to see him this shaken feels wrong. Feels like the grounds shifted underneath Jason’s feet. He looks down at his own hands, Clay’s blood drying from crimson to maroon on them, thinks of the bloody sunset just before they left last night. 

And now that Clay’s out of their hands the fear starts to recede and white hot anger rises to take its place. Because one of his guys almost just died, one of his guys just jumped on a goddamn grenade that should have taken out all of them and someone’s going to answer for that in blood. He spins, unclipping his helmet and marching towards the base. He feels his team gather behind him, following him down the warpath.

He slams the door to the op center open, relishing the crack it makes as it hits the wall, the way everyone jumps a little. He scans the room, Russell is noticeably absent but Blackburn’s standing at the back on a SAT phone with someone. As soon as he sees Jason he hangs up, face grim. 

“What the _hell_ was that Blackburn?”

Jason nearly yells as he marches over, getting in Blackburn’s face. To his credit he just takes it, doesn’t flinch away. 

“We’re still trying to find out what happened, I’ll keep you updated as best I can.”

He says, voice even in the face of Jason’s rage. Jason huffs, tossing his helmet onto the table where it lands with a clatter.

“Yeah, damn straight you will. We were _not_ prepared for that Eric, for thirty guys with fucking RPG’s, I swear to god when I see Russell-”

“Jason.” Blackburn says before he can finish his sentence, loud enough to be heard over Jason’s rant. “Jason, I understand you’re pissed, and I’m not telling you not to be, alright, but this isn’t what your team needs right now. They need you to be their leader.”

Jason pauses, glancing back to where the rest of Bravo is standing. 

They look lost, standing clustered together, faces blank and eyes distant. Ray’s got his hand on Sonny’s shoulder, who looks caught somewhere between wanting to cry and wanting to hit something. Brock’s still bleeding from the cut on his forehead, staring off into nothing. Trent’s covered in blood, drying like rust into his shirt. Jason deflates, because Blackburn’s right. They don’t need his righteous anger, not right now. There will be a time for that later, but right now they just need someone to hold them all together. 

“Listen,” Blackburn says, “Clay’s been evacced to a local friendly hospital. Soon as I know anything you’ll know, alright?”

Jason nods, suddenly feels very tired. 

“Yeah, okay. Thanks Eric.” Turning back to the rest of his team he sighs. “Come on, guys, let’s go get cleaned up, get that cut looked at, Brock.” 

They hadn’t been assigned quarters because the op was supposed be quick, so they end up back on the plane. Trent sits Brock down and checks out his forehead, reports back that it’s not deep and should just need a few stitches. Jason nods, feels grateful for that at least. They all spread out after that, to change out of their sweaty dirty gear, decompress. 

Jason wanders over to where Clay had set up on the flight over. Clay’s backpack is still sitting where he left it, the book he’d been reading left open haphazardly on top of it. Jason sinks down onto the web seat next to it, reaches over. It’s A Tale of Two Cities, and he shakes his head, smiling slightly. Figures. Carefully he slides the bookmark between the pages and closes the book, unzipping the bag and tucking it inside. He knows Clay wouldn’t want to lose his place if he comes back to finish it. When, he corrects himself immediately, _when_ he comes back. He will come back. He has too. 

They wait. Some of them sleep, some of them pace. After a while Ray comes and sits down next to Jason. They don’t say anything, but he appreciates the quiet support his presence brings. After about two hours Blackburn returns, walking slowly onto up the ramp into the C-17. 

Blackburn’s a hard man to read, but Jason’s known him for a lot of years and he can see the tension in his face, the anger tucked into the corners of his eyes. He stands up, waits for the rest of Bravo to gather around them. Blackburn starts, 

“Russell’s asset was just found, body dumped in a field. There were signs of torture.”

The implication sinks like a rock in Jason’s stomach as he continues on. 

“One of the aid workers that Mubarek’s attack killed was the son of a congressman, he pushed hard for this op. Mubarek knew the United States would be coming after him-”

“So he made sure it was on his terms. He was never anywhere near Kongor, was he.” 

Ray finishes, voice sounding strangled. Blackburn nods stiffly. 

“It appears this was a trap.”

Sonny curses loudly, spinning on his heel and kicking something hard that clatters across the floor. When he turns back to face them he looks positively deadly. 

“I’m going to kill Russell, Jase, I swear to god I’m hunting down his checkered shirt CIA ass and putting it in the ground.” Sonny growls, sounding more furious then Jason’s heard in a long time. “He walked us straight into a goddamn trap, and Clay’s the one paying for it.” 

“Yeah, I know Sonny.” 

Jason says, feeling that fury building again in his chest again. He knew there was something that Russell was hiding, knew that this mission was bad news. He presses it down though, takes a deep breath. He's got a responsibility, he reminds himself, not just to Clay but to the rest of Bravo too. A responsibility to be better then that. 

“Listen,” Blackburn says, sounding very tired. “Clay’s been moved to Camp Lemonnier, to the military hospital there. They didn’t have the facilities to deal with his injuries here.” 

“But he’s alive?”

Trent asks. Blackburn nods. 

“Yeah, our boy’s fighting. Once he’s stable enough for a longer flight they’ll airlift him back to the states. The rest of us are going home though.” 

It feels wrong, to leave Clay here. Not when he nearly died for them, not when his fight is far from over, but Jason knows that’s the way it works. You don’t just get to drop everything just because a teammate went down, no matter how much you might want to. It’s oscar mike, keep going. 

The crew starts to prep for take off, activity increasing as crates are strapped down and last minute checks completed. Eventually the moment Jason has been dreading comes. As soon as Russell steps on the plane Jason can feel the tension ramp up, nearly crackling in the air. He glances at them briefly, but luckily doesn’t try to start a conversation. No one tries to hide the dirty looks cast his way, but Russell either doesn’t notice them or does a very good job of pretending. 

Jason just hopes they can make it back home without a fist fight erupting. Although he can’t honestly say he’ll be the one to stop it if it does. They stick to opposite sides of the plane, Bravo gathering in one corner while Russell sits on his own on the other side. For the first hour or so things go alright, Sonny glares at the agent the entire time but he doesn’t make a move towards him. Jason lets himself believe, just for a second, that maybe they’ll make it through, right up until Russell gets up and starts walking towards them. 

“Jase, what the hell is he doing?”

Ray whispers quietly beside him, but Jason doesn’t have an answer. Around him he can feel his team bristle, their hackles rising as Russell approaches. He rises to meet him, stepping forward, and feels Sonny get to his feet behind him. Russell stops a few paces away, looking around a little awkwardly. 

“Look,” he says. “I just want to apologize. It’s…unfortunate, what happened. ” 

Sonny scoffs loudly. 

“Oh yeah, it’s unfortunate alright. Ain’t gonna look too good for your congressman if you get a SEAL killed on his little revenge mission.” 

Russell’s face freezes. 

“Excuse me?”

He says icily. 

“I _said_ ,” Sonny bites out, moving forward to stand by Jason. “You leash might be chafing a little extra tight if Clay doesn’t make it.”

“Listen, I just came here to extend my condolences, not be insulted. I don’t need to put up with this.”

Russell spits, face white with fury and embarrassment. Jason just crosses his arms, unimpressed. 

“I think you should leave.”

He says coolly, trying to bite back his anger. Russell nods shortly. 

“Yeah. I think so too.” He starts to leave, but pauses shaking his head. “It could have been a lot worse, you know.”

That’s the final straw, and then Sonny’s letting out an inarticulate roar of anger, lunging forward at Russell. Jason manages to snag him by the back of his shirt, pulling him up short while Russell stumbles clumsily backs, and then Ray and Trent and Brock are there, Trent pushing himself in between Sonny and Russell while Brock and Ray get him by the arms and yank him backwards. 

And the thing is that it could have been worse, _should_ have been worse, Jason knows that. This could’ve ended with six flag wrapped coffins instead of one guy in a hospital. Could’ve ended with Emma and Mikey as orphans, Naima rising Jameelah and RJ on her own, six mourning families. It could have been so much worse, but he’s having a hard time caring about that right now, not when what Blackburn told them is still ringing in his ears. 

“Get the fuck off me,” 

Sonny’s growling, trying to shake off the restraining hands, and Jason has half a mind to just tell them to let him go, sic him on Russell. But he can’t, because he’s their team leader and he has a responsibility to be better then that.

“Sonny, cool it.” Jason snaps, then turns towards Russell, pointing to the other side of the plane “Walk away. _Walk away_. And don’t try and talk to my team again.”

Russell picks himself up a little, adjusting his shirt, obviously shaken. 

“Yeah, alright. Look, I _am_ sorry, but your man knew the risks. Price of doing business.” 

Russell says, almost condescendingly, and that’s when Jason’s patience finally snaps, worn thin by fear and anger and exhaustion. Price of doing business. Like Clay’s life is a just number, something that can be weighed and it’s worth judged. He spins on his heel, stalking towards the other man. He hears Ray call his name warningly from behind him, and pretends he doesn’t.

“He knew the risks, yeah. Here’s the thing though, Russell, he didn’t know the risks. This was supposed to be a simple night raid, smash and grab. Not a daylight firefight with 20 plus combatants who had surface to air capabilities. And you know why we didn’t know what we were walking into, huh? It was because of _your_ incomplete intelligence. Incomplete intel that you pushed forward anyways because you wanted to look good for a fucking senator. That’s the reason Spenser’s fighting for his life right now. And believe me, if he dies, I will come after you.” 

Russell pales a shade further, but holds his ground, lips tightening so thin they’re barely visible. 

“Is that a threat, Master Chief Hayes?” 

Jason shakes his head, 

“No, no, it’s not a threat. It’s a promise. So you better pray he makes it through. Now get the fuck away from my team, before I change my mind and let Sonny at you.” 

Russell swallows hard, but doesn’t respond. Just turns stiffly away and walks back to his seat, shoulders rigid. It should feel satisfying, to see him afraid, but it doesn't.


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say thank you to everyone for your comments! They're truly so lovely and encouraging and bring a smile to my face. Even if I don't reply I definitely read (and reread) every single one and they always make my day! With that being said, enjoy!

As soon as Russell’s out of earshot Jason turns back to his team. Sonny’s shaken off Ray and Brock, but he still looks like he wants to hit something. 

“Alright, we’re doing an AAR in an hour.”

Jason says sharply. Ray looks over at him in surprise, 

“Jase,” He says in that same warning tone, giving a careful look around to the guys. “I think maybe we should save that for later, it’s been a long night-” 

“No. We’re doing it. One hour. Do what you need to do to get your heads right.”

There’s a muttered chorus of assents as everyone starts to drift off to sleep or think or brood. Ray gives him a pointed look, but doesn’t push it further. Jason’s grateful for it, he doesn’t think he can take having to explain himself. 

The AAR feels like torture, feels cruel to put his guys through. They do it anyway. Ray spreads out the pictures of the house on a crate and they all sit around it and walk through what was probably one of their worst nights as Bravo. 

“Alright,” Jason starts, rubbing at his eyes. “We split into two teams, one for each breach point. Once the door blew my team cleared the first and second rooms, found nothing.”

Ray nods, jumping in. 

“My team did the same, found nothing on the first floor or the second.” 

“Right, no jackpot, target wasn’t there. So we started sweeping for any electronics, physical evidence. And that’s when Brock spotted movement outside the house.”

Jason pauses then, waiting for Brock to start, but he just sits, staring off into nothing and doesn’t respond. 

“Brock?”

He calls again, after a few long seconds. Brock starts, looking up with a blank gaze. The cut on his forehead’s been stitched up but it still looks red and glaring against his pale face. 

“Yeah, uh, sorry. I was at the window, saw movement in the houses across the street. At least two tangoes I could clock.” 

Sonny nods a little bitterly. 

“Right, and that’s when it all went to shit. A fuckin’ goat chain is what that was.” 

He bites out. Jason gives Sonny a careful look.

“Hey, hey, let’s stay focused okay?” Jason says warningly and Sonny still looks pissed but he keeps his mouth shut. “Alright, we engaged with the enemy at this point, who took out our vehicles and were targeting the structure with an RPG.”

“Ray and I moved up to the second floor to get a better angle on the shooter.”

Trent says, quietly, slowly rubbing at the bridge of his nose the way he does when he’s anxious. Ray nods, picks up where he left off.

“I took out the RPG , then Trent and I rendezvoused back downstairs to prep for exfil.” 

A silence settles then, everyone knowing what happened next, no one wanting to say it. Jason swallows, digs his fingers into his hands. 

“At this point an enemy combatant threw a handheld grenade into the central room and-”

Before Jason can say his name Sonny abruptly stands with enough force to send the crate he was sitting on skidding back. 

“Why the hell are we even doin’ this,” He says angrily, “We all know what happened, we all know that Clay-” His voice breaks then, and he swallows, looking away. When he looks back his eye are dark. “We all know who’s goddamn fault it is too-”

“Sonny…” 

Jason says, warningly but Sonny just barrels on. 

“No, Jase, that asshole walked us right into a fuckin’ trap and he’s just gettin’ away with it! Even after Clay jumped on a-”

This time Jason cuts him off. 

“Sonny, enough! Sit your ass down and shut up, okay. We’re finishing the AAR.” 

Sonny glares for a long second, then slowly sits back down, folding his arms across his chest. 

“He’s not wrong, boss.” Trent says after a long second, “Russell nearly got Clay killed, feels like he shouldn’t just get to walk away.” 

Everyone nods, and Jason can feel the anger radiating off his team, feel the need to do _something_. Because that’s what they do, they get revenge. If Trent, usually the most level-headed of the bunch, is out for the blood then it’s bad. But they can’t just go knock skulls together like they usually would, this isn’t something they can fix with violence. 

“We’re not going to let him get away with it, okay, we’re not. I promise. But we can’t fight this the way you want to. We’re gonna sit down and we’re going get all the facts together, and then we’re going to pin his ass to the wall. But we need to document this, okay, follow all the protocols. That means finishing the AAR.” 

Everyone nods slowly, reluctantly. Sonny’s the slowest, but eventually he nods too, mouth a thin white slash in his beard, and when Jason continues he doesn’t interrupt this time. 

By the time they’re done with the review Jason feels exhausted, like he could sleep for twelve hours straight. They’re a still few hours out from stateside so he lies down across one of the web seats, sticks a bunched up jacket under his head and closes his eyes. Still, despite the fact that he hasn’t slept for a good 24 hours or so he can’t seem to make it come. He keeps thinking about Clay, about Russell, about every single thing that went wrong on this op and how he could have stopped it. Mind racing in circles over and over in an endless, fruitless, loop. Eventually he gives up on trying to sleep, just waits for them to land. It’s a long flight, and it feels even longer now.

They disembark, grabbing their packs and heading for the parking lot. There are a few subdued goodbyes, and then they drift apart to head home. It never feels right, when they come back with fewer then they left with. Jason’s just fishing for his keys in his pocket and heading for his truck when he glances over his shoulder. Sonny’s standing in the middle of the lot looking crushed. Jason frowns, stops. 

“Hey, what’s the matter?”

Sonny doesn’t turn to face him. 

“Clay, uh, Clay was my ride here.” 

He says, stiffly, and Jason follows his gaze to where Clay’s car is still sitting where he parked it before they left, ridiculous flame decals and all. It feels like a punch to the stomach, and for a second Jason can’t force any words out. 

“Come on,” He manages finally, reaching out to pat Sonny on the shoulder. “I’ll drive you home.” 

For a man who usually can’t be paid to shut up Sonny’s dead quiet the whole thirty minute car ride to his apartment. Just sits, staring blankly out the window at nothing. When they finally pull up outside of Sonny’s place he silently grabs his backpack and moves to open the door with a gruff thanks. He pauses though, hand on the door handle, half-turned away from Jason. 

“He’s gonna be alright, right Jase?” 

Jason wishes more then anything he could say yes, but he’s learned better then to make promises he can’t keep. 

“I…I don’t know, Sonny.”

“Yeah. Guess not.” 

Sonny replies sounding defeated. He pushes open the door and gets out, heaving his backpack onto his shoulder and heading for the door to his building. 

“Look, try not to get too drunk, huh?”

Jason calls out after him. Sonny gives a half-shouldered shrug, doesn’t look back. Jason sighs, as he pulls out and heads home. Guess that’s the best he can hope for with Sonny. 

Jason unlocks the front door his place, throwing his stuff on the ground and sinking onto a couch. Emma’s visiting her grandparents for spring break and Mikey’s at hockey camp till the end of the week so he’s alone. The house feels cavernous and barren, feels claustrophobic even with the emptiness. Jason runs a hand down his face, leaning back against the cushions. God, he wishes Alana were here, just to have someone to talk to, someone who’d tell him things were going to be alright instead of the other way around. He crumples the thought into a ball and tosses it as soon as he thinks it because she’s not here and she won’t ever be again. It doesn’t do any good to linger on impossible things. 

He feels exhausted, but he also knows he’s still way too wired to sleep. Pushing himself up off the couch he wanders into the kitchen and pulls open the fridge, which is pretty barren except for some expired milk and a couple wilted bags of Emma’s spinach. There’s an old box of chinese but a quick sniff shows it’s past it’s prime. With both the kids gone Jason’s pretty much been surviving on take out, and he makes a note to try and run by the grocery store. He settles for a bowl of dry cereal and brings it back to the couch. It tastes like cardboard in his mouth, and he abandons it halfway through, dropping it onto the coffee table with a thud. 

It’s too quiet in the house, a heavy oppressive silence that feels like a weight on his shoulders. He flicks the TV on to a random channel, letting the white noise of talking heads fade into the background. It makes it a little better, a little less desolate. He finally dozes off around two, the hum of the TV still going in the background. 

He’s woken by the sound of a phone ringing somewhere near his head. He blinks awake, pushing himself up from the awkward position he’d slumped into and pats the couch cushions for his phone, other hand reaching for the remote to mute the TV. 

“Hayes,”

He answer scratchily without looking at the caller ID, still half asleep. 

“Jason.”   
  
Blackburn’s voice replies and immediately Jason straightens, suddenly very awake. If Eric’s calling it has to be about Clay. 

“Clay made it through his first round of surgeries. They’re flying him back stateside, should arrive in two hours.” 

“You know anything more?”

Jason asks, almost afraid of the answer. He can hear tense frustration in Blackburn’s voice when he replies. 

“Not much. Just that he’s still critical and the doctors say it’s a goddamn miracle he’s still alive.”

It isn’t much, but it’s almost more then Jason dared to hope for. 

“Alright, text me as soon as he lands, yeah?”

Blackburn promises to keep him updated, and Jason pauses before he ends the call. 

“And Eric, thank you.”

“Of course.” 

Is the gruff but steady reply, before Blackburn hangs up. Immediately Jason shoots a message to the rest of the guys, letting them know Clay is on his way home and to be on standby. 

Then he drags himself upstairs to take a shower, eats some dry toast, goes through the motions. He feels jittery and wired, like he’s downed three cups of black coffee in a row or drank one of those awful red bull mixed drinks Trent orders sometimes. Two hours isn’t a long time, but it feels like it drags on forever and he’s nearly booking it out of the door as soon as Blackburn texts him to let him know Clay just got transferred to the hospital.   
  
He meets the rest of the team in the waiting room of the ICU, and Blackburn joins them after a few minutes with a man in a lab coat in tow. 

“This is Dr. Johnson, he’ll be in charge of Clay’s care. Figured you’d want to hear the update straight from him.”

He says, as an introduction. Dr. Johnson steps forward, shaking Jason’s hand. 

“Look, why don’t we all take a seat-”

He starts, but Jason doesn’t let him finish, shaking his head. 

“Look, no offense doc but I don’t want to have a seat, I just want you to tell me how my guy is doing.” 

The doctor pauses, giving him an appraising look, but takes the interruption in stride. 

“Alright then. Currently Spenser is in a medically induced coma.” 

Jason hears Sonny curse sharply behind him and ignores it, focuses in on what Johnson’s saying. 

“He’s on a ventilator for the moment. His right lung was completely collapsed so we want to take the pressure off his respiratory system while it re-inflates, and he’s still got a chest tube to help drain the build up of air in his chest from the chest wound he sustained. Beyond that there was a lot of internal damage; his intestines were perforated pretty badly by shrapnel. The surgeons did an exploratory laparotomy, and fortunately didn’t have to remove any, which is good news. We’ve got him on IV antibiotics to prevent peritonitis or the onset of sepsis. One of our biggest concerns right now is infection from any foreign materiel in the shrapnel wounds, he’s not going to be strong enough to fight anything off in his current condition.”

It’s a goddamn laundry list, and the sheer impossibility of Clay even being alive right now threatens to overwhelm Jason. He takes a deep breath, focuses on one thing at a time. 

“You said he’s-he’s in a coma, what are we talking about, a medically induced coma.”

Johnson nods. 

“Right now he’s very weak, and if he was awake he’d be in a lot of discomfort. Once he starts to heal up we’ll take him off the drugs, let him come out of it naturally.”

“What are his chances, then?”

Ray asks, ever the voice of reason. His tone sounds calm but Jason picks up the undercurrent of fear and uncertainty. Johnson takes a deep breath, looks at them carefully one by one. 

“Look, I’m not going to bullshit you guys. These are pretty devastating injuries on their own, and together, it’s a lot for a body to handle. But he’s also made it this far, which is a positive sign. The next 48 hours are going to be critical, if he makes it through that I say there’s room for cautious, _cautious_ , optimism.” 

It’s not the reassurance Jason was hoping for exactly, and he can feel everyone deflate a little. 

“Can we see him?” 

Sonny cuts in, sounding very small. Johnson shakes his head. 

“Nurses are still getting him settled, but they should be finishing up the next few minutes. I’ll have someone let you know when they’re done, but only two at a time please.” 

With that he excuses himself. 

“Alright,” Jason says, turning back to face his team, “We’ll set up shifts. Somebody should always be here with him. Who’s taking first?”

Immediately five hands shoot into the air and it’s somewhere between comical, heartwarming, and tragic. Jason takes a breath, looks over his guys. He knows they all want to support their boy, but he also knows Trent has run himself ragged, and Ray’s aching for Naima and the kids, and Sonny’s as liable to cause trouble as anything else the way he’s feeling right now. 

“Okay, Brock you’re up.”

He decides. Brock nods, quiet and even. Sonny opens his mouth to protest but Jason just shakes his head. 

“Look, I know we all want to be _here_ right now, but it’s better if we take care of ourselves too, okay. We’ll do shifts, we’ll stay with him, we’ll make sure he’s not alone. Got it?”

One by one they all agree, some more reluctantly then others. It’s hard, but it’s the truth too. While everyone goes to take a seat, waiting for someone to let them know Clay’s settled in his room Jason looks at Blackburn, jerks his head to the side. Eric follows him to a quiet corner of the waiting room, out of earshot of the others. Jason leans against the wall, folds his arms across the chest. 

“Any news on Russell?”

Blackburn sighs, shakes his head. 

“Look, Jason, he’s got a senator behind him. It’s-it’s gonna be hard to go after him.”

“Eric, I got one of my men in a hospital bed with a hole in his chest cause he jumped on a grenade. I got a whole team of guys who’d like nothing more then to rip that asshole spook’s head off and bury him in a shallow grave, okay, and the only thing holding ‘em back is my word that we’re gonna go through the proper channels. So I better be able to keep my word, understand?” 

Jason says gruffly. Blackburn nods, sighs again, runs a hand down his beard. He looks tired, and Jason’s willing to bet he hasn’t slept since they landed. He knows Blackburn cares about his guys, cares about Clay. It’s what makes him a good CO. 

“I get that, and I’m going to do everything I can to get him brought up for review. But I just- I can’t make any promises.” 

Jason nods. He does understand, doesn’t mean it doesn’t make him furious. Before he can get too worked up though a nurse pokes her head into the room. 

“You all waiting on Clay Spenser?”

She asks. Sonny springs to his feet, nodding vigorously.  
  
“You can go on in and see him now if you’d like.” 

And her voice is kind. Jason lets Sonny and Trent go first, knowing that Sonny’s itching to check on his best friend. They’re gone for about five minutes, and when they come out again Sonny looks caught between hitting something and bursting into tears. Even Trent looks pale and unsettled, face drawn and eyes far away. 

He meets Ray’s eyes, sees his own trepidation reflected there. Side by side they make their way to Clay’s room and slip inside. 

Clay’s deathly pale, bruised eyes closed and small cuts littering his face. There’s a tube down his throat and IV’s in his arm and a chest tube draining pink liquid out of his side and a million other wires leading from his body to the machines keeping him alive. Trent would probably know what they did. Jason thinks he would feel better if he did too, if he knew there was a purpose to each one. 

“Jesus,”

Ray whispers, voice rough. Jason walks forward, puts his hands on the end of Clay’s bed. His stomach roils uncomfortably and he tries to press it down. 

“He’s strong, Ray, he’s a strong kid. He’ll fight for it.”

He says, trying hard to believe it, trying hard to believe that anyone could make it back from this. Ray joins him, nods. 

“Yeah, damn straight.” 

For a long second they both stand there, just watching. The only sound in the small room is the click of the ventilator and the steady beep of Clay’s EKG. Finally Ray breaks the silence. 

“Jase, the guys are out for blood.”

Jason grimaces, running a hand down his face, trying to wipe away the exhaustion, not really succeeding. And Jason loves Ray, he’s his best friend, his brother, but he doesn’t want to be having this conversation right now. Not when they’re standing in Clay’s hospital room, not when Clay’s two feet away on a vent because he can’t breath on his own. 

“I know. I talked to Blackburn, he’s doing his best to get Russell in for a review.” 

“That’s good.” 

There’s a long pause, where Ray seems like he’s weighing whether or not to say something. Jason waits, lets him decide. Eventually he starts again. 

“Look, you should talk to Sonny, he’s taking it pretty hard. I’m worried he might try and do something stupid.” 

Ray says, with a pointed meaningful look. Jason heaves a sigh. 

“Yeah, yeah. I will. Last thing we need right now is Sonny getting court martialled…”

Ray manages to laugh a little at that, and for a second the room feels a little less small. As they turn to leave Jason reaches down, gives Clay’s blanket covered ankle a gentle squeeze. 

“Hang in there, kid.”

He says, quietly, then follows Ray out the door. He knows there’s no way Clay can hear him, but still. He hopes he knows somewhere inside that he isn’t alone. That they’re all right there with him, till the end if need be. 


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another heavy one! Promise things start to look up next chapter. Also, I'm going away this weekend for a little vacation to the mountains for my birthday so I will probably not be updating until after the weekend. Hope everyone is staying safe and well and see you next week!

Jason walks back out to the waiting room feeling very heavy, some invisible weight pressing down on his shoulders, dragging him towards the ground. He tries to pull himself together, takes a deep breath.

“Alright everyone, let’s go home, get some rest. Brock, Ray will be by in a couple of hours to relieve you, okay?”

Brock nods quietly, pushing himself up from his chair and moving towards Clay’s room to take up his post. Jason gives him a pat on the back as he passes by, eyes landing on where Sonny’s standing alone in the corner, one hand pressed white knuckled against the wall and head tilted down. Even from here Jason can see his shoulders are tense and rigid. 

“Yo, Sonny, you’re riding with me.” 

He calls. Sonny looks over his shoulder, a little surprised, but nods, follows him out of the waiting room and down to his car. 

“Hey, this ain’t the way to my house, Jase.” Sonny says after a few blocks, brows furrowed. “You sure you didn’t get your bell rung?”

“I know where I’m going, Sonny.”

Jason replies, and Sonny doesn’t fight it. After a few more minutes they pull up front of a familiar bar, Jason sliding into a parking spot. 

“Come on,” he says, pushing the car door open. “Buy you a drink.” 

He doesn’t look back to see if Sonny follows, but he hears the sound of the car opening and closing and heavy footsteps behind him. The place is pretty close to empty, seeing as it’s about 2:00 on a weekday, and Jason grabs a seat at the bar. 

“Beer for me,” He calls to the bartender as Sonny settles beside him, “And a whiskey for my friend.”

“Thought you told me not to get drunk.”

Sonny says, almost warily. Jason shrugs. 

“Well, now I’m buying you a drink.” 

The bartender sets their drinks in front of them, and Jason takes the beer bottle in his hands. The glass is still cool from the fridge, beads of condensation rolling down the sides, peeling at the label. He turns it in circles, doesn’t drink it. Beside him Sonny lifts his glass to his mouth, takes a long swallow. Sets it down. 

“So, not that I’m one to complain about a free drink but any reason in particular we’re here?”

“Because I know you, Sonny, and I know when you’re looking to cause trouble.” 

Jason replies evenly. Waits for the inevitable flash of anger. It comes, because Sonny is nothing if not predictable. 

“Dammit Jase, you saw him. He couldn’t even _breathe_ on his own. How the hell we lettin’ Russell walk around on his own two goddamn legs, huh, after what he did to our brother?” 

Sonny Quinn is volatile on the best of days, but when someone he cares about is in danger he turns into a veritable nuclear bomb. It’s always difficult to say which way it’s going to explode. In violent anger, a booze-binge, tears, or some combination of all three. Today, it looks like it’s going to be anger. Sonny barrels on, almost like he’s not able to stop himself. 

“If we hadn’t spent so long looking for that asshole, who was never even there then… Clay wouldn’t have done what he did.” 

“Don’t say that, Sonny, don’t say that.” Jason says, voice sharp, “Yeah, Russell’s bad intel got us in there but Clay knew what he was doing when he made his choice, and he made it because of who he is. He did it to save our lives. Don’t take that away from him.” 

Instantly Sonny’s face crumples into contrition and he nods. 

“Yeah, I know, it’s just…” He laughs, a jagged broken little thing, “You know, right after Adam died, Ray told Clay the same damn thing. Guess it’s different when it’s-”

His voice chokes off again and he doesn’t finish his sentence, instead throwing back the rest of his whiskey, slamming the nearly empty glass on the bar top. Jason sighs, finally takes a sip of his beer. Tries to think of what to say that’ll lead Sonny off the warpath. 

“Look, Sonny, I know you’re angry. Believe me, I’m angry too. But right now, anger isn’t helpful, okay. You’re Clay’s best friend, and he’s gonna need you to get through this. You have to-to put yourself aside, to be there for him. Can you do that?” 

For a long moment Sonny just stares down at the dregs of whiskey in his glass, amber light reflecting against the polished wood of the counter top. Then he nods. 

“Yeah.” He says, almost softly, “I can do that.” 

Jason nods, puts a hand on Sonny’s shoulder. They sit like that for a while, until Jason’s beer is too warm to drink and all the ice in Sonny’s glass has melted. 

After their talk Jason drops Sonny off, goes home. They’re off rotation for at least the next couple of days, Alpha stepping in to cover them. He’s grateful, none of them are in the right headspace to operate right now. He goes for a run, showers, makes lunch. The hours pass, and Brock’s shift ends without incident, Ray going in to relieve him. A few hours in Ray texts them to let them know Clay’s spiked a low grade fever. He sleeps, he wakes up. Trent’s taken over from Ray, and there’s no change. Jason feels stuck, like he can’t quite relax. Like he’s just waiting for the other shoe to drop. It’s not a good feeling. 

There’s practically no food in the house so he goes to the grocery store, picks up some frozen pizzas and bread and a couple cases of beer. He throws in a tub of chocolate ice cream too, it’s definitely a cheat meal but if there was ever a time for comfort food it’s right now. Anyways, Mikey can finish what’s left when he gets home from camp. 

He’s just walking up to his front door, juggling the grocery bags in one hand while trying to fish his keys out of his pocket when his phone buzzes. It’s a text from Trent. All it says is _get here now_. Jason turns around and runs for his car, groceries slipping forgotten from his hands to the driveway. 

It’s takes fifteen minutes to get to the hospital from his house and he spends the whole drive hands white knuckled on the steering wheel, going ten above the speed limit. It feels uncomfortably familiar, and Jason remembers another time not so long ago he was driving to the hospital, uncertain of what he was going to find. Remembers the same panic that built in his stomach and crawled up his throat and made the edges of his vision blurry and indistinct. He wonders at what point do all the losses start to blend together, when does one pain fail to exceed the last. He thought it’d get easier, eventually, but he thinks it’s just getting harder. 

When he arrives at the hospital he runs into Ray in the parking lot, and they exchange a worried glance as they head up to Clay’s room. Trent’s sitting outside in the hallway, head in his hands and Jason feels his stomach bottom out. 

“Trent, what the hell’s going on?”

He asks, in a voice that doesn’t sound like his own. Trent looks up, almost startled, like he hadn’t even heard they were there. His mouth opens, closes, his eyes drift past their shoulders. Behind him Jason hears the sound of footsteps, Sonny and Brock arriving, but ignores it. Blackburn and Lisa are already there, looking grim and sad. 

“Trent.”

He says again, an order this time. Trent stands finally, looking back at Clay’s room then to them again. His hands hang loosely at his sides like he doesn’t quite know what to do with them. 

“He coded,” Trent says slowly, “His heart stopped. They, uh, they managed to get him back pretty quick though.” 

Somebody swears behind him, but Jason barely hears it over a buzzing in his ears that grows and grows and grows. 

“What happened? He was stable when I went home.”

Jason dimly registers Ray asking. Trent shrugs, a little helplessly. 

“I-I’m not sure, I haven’t been able to talk to the doctor yet.” 

As if on cue the same doctor who spoke to them yesterday, Johnson Jason thinks his name is, walks over. He looks a little more tired then he did, grey brown hair a mess. He glances around at all of them, at the poorly disguised panic on all their faces. Sighs. Then begins.

“Clay developed an internal bleed. As you may have already heard, he did enter cardiac arrest, but we were able to resuscitate him. We’re going to take him in for an emergency surgery to see if anything was missed in the ex-lap. We’re also going to get him on an antibiotics regime, as well as fever reducers and hope to see those start to take effect in the next few hours.” Johnson pauses then, sighing and pushing his glasses up on his face. “I told you I was going to be honest with you, and unfortunately this isn’t a good sign. I… I think it might be time to call his family.”

That gets Jason’s attention, because if the doctor's telling them to get family here it means that whatever positive words he might give them he thinks there’s a good chance Clay’s not going to hold out much longer. There’s a heavy silence, and Jason realizes that they’re all waiting for him to say something, to respond. That finally snaps him out of his haze, and he nods. 

“Yeah, uh, we can do that.”

He says numbly. But who is there to call, really? Ash, maybe, but he wasn’t ever really Clay’s father, not in a way that meant anything. No, everyone who matters to Clay, really matters, is here in this room. And everyone Clay matters too, his family. They’re all here. 

Johnson nods, then leaves with a promise to keep them updated. 

“Look,” Jason says, feeling very weary. “We don’t all have to stay.”

Sonny shakes his head, jaw set. 

“I ain’t leavin’.”

And his voice is stubborn. 

“Yeah, I haven’t finished my shift yet anyways.” 

Trent adds. Ray shrugs, shoulders tight.

“Naima’s mom can take the kids.”

Brock doesn’t say anything, just takes a seat and settles in, a clear response to what he thinks of Jason’s suggestion. Blackburn disappears to track down Clay’s surgeon and see what he can find out about the emergency surgery.

“Look, I’ll go find Ash’s info, see if I can get in contact with him.”

Lisa offers quietly. Jason feels something overwhelming swell in his chest, something that feels like pride. Somehow, without really talking about it, they’d all come to a decision. They’re staying with Clay. All of them. He has to take a breath before he can reply, 

“Okay, that’s good. Thanks Lisa.” 

He says, voice tight with emotion. She manages a smile, and with a last comforting hand on his elbow she disappears. 

They all settle in for the long haul, trying to get comfortable in crappy plastic hospital chairs. Clay’s still in surgery, so they wait out in the hallway by his empty room. It’s worse this way, he thinks, then on an op. At least out in the field you can pack it away, focus on the moment, on completing the mission and getting out alive. Here though, there’s nothing to do but wait, and think.

Jason can already picture what comes after, if Clay doesn’t make it. Can picture the somber funeral in some dusty dark church Clay would have hated, the speeches people will make. The speech he’ll have to make. The navy will paint Clay as a hero, which he was ( _is_ , Jason corrects himself, still is), but not the one he wanted to be. Ash will probably turn it into a spectacle, fodder for his next book. 

He can picture the night after the funeral as well, when they all gather in the bar and drink to Spenser’s memory. The speeches that will be made there, too. And then that’s it, he becomes another picture on the wall, another name to move into the folder on his phone labeled fallen. That’s it. Everything that made Clay Clay will fade away into dust like it never even was. His sometimes ruthless ambition, his love for his team, the way there was always a tower of books a foot tall in his cage. It will all mean nothing, in the end, reduced to a stack of medals and a hole in all their lives that never quite goes away. 

And Jason knows that in this job, there’s always a chance you don’t make it back. Knows like every operator knows that each of them has a time for their card to be punched and that time will come due. And that often you don’t get goodbyes or thank you’s or chances to say sorry, that people are there one second and gone the next. The lives they lead are violent and brutal and often short, no time for gentle touches. But he feels in his bones, like an ache, that this isn’t Spenser’s time. He was supposed to lead his own team someday, lead _Bravo_ someday. He wasn’t done yet. 

Jason’s lost friends before, teammates before. But this feels like the straw that breaks the camel’s back. He hopes, desperately and fervently, that he doesn’t have to find out if that’s true. 

The hours pass and blend together. True to his word Johnson drops by every now and then with updates, mostly they’re the same. Not better but not worse either. Davis comes back after a while, lips tight and eyes angry. Ash is on a book tour, halfway across the country. He’d asked to be kept updated, but said he didn’t think he could make it back. It makes Jason mad, in a tired bitter sort of way, but he’s almost grateful. All Ash’s presence would probably do right now is start fights, and that’s not what any of them need, least of all Clay. 

The team trickles in and out; taking breaks for food, to stretch their legs. But everyone stays close, just in case. They’re probably getting in the way, filling up the hallway like this, but no one says anything or asks them to move. 

It’s early again, maybe five or six, when Jason finally pushes himself up out of his chair. It’s hard to tell in hospitals, there’s no windows just fluorescent light panels, and time can feel very distant. His legs protest at the movement after so many hours of inactivity and he stretches them a little. Brock’s passed out in a chair, which is truly a testament to his ability to rack out anywhere, and Trent’s sitting next to him, hands clasped tightly in front of him. Davis and Blackburn left a little while ago, for home and work respectively, and Sonny’s grabbing food in the cafeteria. He doesn’t know where Ray is, he wandered off a while ago. 

“Gonna take a walk,” He says quietly, “Be back in a little bit.”

Trent nods absentmindedly, eyes distant. Turning Jason picks a direction at random and starts off, wandering down the sterile hospital corridors. He doesn’t have a destination in mind really, just wants to stretch his legs, get away for a little while. Eventually his feet lead him past the hospital chapel, and he pauses. 

The door is open, and there’s someone inside, hands clasped on the bench in front of them and head bowed. Jason hesitates for a moment, before stepping quietly inside and taking a seat beside Ray. The air feels heavier in here, dustier maybe. 

“Haven’t seen you pray for a while.”

He comments, after his friend finishes. Ray shrugs, unfolding his hands and sitting back. 

“Yeah, well, faith has been a little hard to come by, recently.” He says quietly, “But I figure Clay could use all the help he can get right now.” 

Jason nods. He’s probably right. Ray takes a deep breath, lets it out. 

“ _Shit_ , Jase, that was a close one. I just keep thinking about how if Clay hadn’t been there none of us would probably be here right now.”

“I know. Been thinking about it too.” Jason leans forward, rubs at his beard. Then says, quietly. “Naima’s worried about you, you know?” 

Ray winces. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I know. And this, it made me think about a lot of things. I mean, it could’ve gone a different way real easy, and...I don’t want to die, knowing that I wasn’t putting 100% in with my family, my team. That’s not the kind of man I want to be.”

Jason shakes his head. 

“And that’s not the kind of man you are, Ray. You’re just going through a tough spot, it happens to all of us. It took…it took me losing Alana to get my shit together with Emma and Mikey.” 

It hurts to say, like ripping at a scab that hasn’t healed yet, but it’s the truth. Ray looks at Jason then, and his dark eyes are sad and tired. 

“I don’t want to lose him, Jase. Not yet. Not like this.”

Jason’s stomach twists, because that’s the thing, isn’t it? Nobody ever wants to lose someone. But most of the time you don’t get a choice. There isn’t a right way to say goodbye, they always hurt. But if there’s one thing that’s he learned about Clay it’s that the kid doesn’t know when to quit. He thinks maybe that applies here too. He hopes it does. 

“Come on,” Jason says, putting a weary hand on Ray’s shoulder. “Let’s head back, alright?”

Ray nods, levers himself up and follows Jason back through the winding hallways. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the life of me I cannot remember the name of the bar they all hang out in so if anyone knows drop it in the comments!


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Thanks for all the birthday wishes everyone, I really appreciate them. Had a nice weekend away from the city but definitely ready to get back to writing and finish this story up! Also, big thank you to everyone who reminded me of the name of the bar, y'all are MVP's. Hope you are staying safe and enjoy!

When they get back to the guys Naima’s there as well, her arms full with two thermoses and a giant tupperware container. She’s talking to Sonny, but turns when she hears Ray and Jason approach. 

“Hey, baby. What are you doing here?” 

Ray asks. Naima deposits her load into Sonny’s arms, walking over to press a kiss to Ray’s lips. 

“I wanted to swing by and check on you boys before my shift started, I brought coffee so you don’t have to keep drinking the vending machine stuff, and some of the girls threw together snacks.”

Ray nods, eyes softening. 

“Thanks, the guys will really appreciate it. How are the kids doing?”

Naima smiles weakly, and Ray puts comforting hands on her shoulders, rubbing them lightly. 

“They’re okay, dropped them off with my mom this morning. Jam’s worried, she won’t stop asking about Uncle Clay, I’m-I’m not sure what to tell her to be honest.” 

Ray closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and Jason feels something in his gut twist.

“Yeah. I’ll talk to her.” 

“Do you have any news?”

Naima asks, tentatively, but Ray just shakes his head. 

“Nothing new. They found the bleed in surgery, and they’re keeping an eye on the fever. That’s about it.”

She nods, pressing a hand to his cheek before turning to Jason. Her eyes are wide and sad and gentle, and she reaches out to pull him into a hug. He lets her, bending over nearly double so that she can wrap her arms around his neck. 

“I’m so sorry.”

She whispers into his ear and he feels his throat tighten with the kindness in it. When she pulls away he has to swipe lightly at his eyes and clear his throat before he can eke out a thank you. 

“Look,” Naima says, turning back to Ray, “I have to get going, but keep me updated okay?”

He nods, promises softly. She reaches forward, winding her arms around his neck, and Jason walks towards the rest of the guys, trying to give them some privacy. 

Someone presses a cup of hot coffee into his hands and he takes it, sinking back down into a chair. He takes a sip, feels the bitter taste against the back of his tongue. He doesn’t know how much more of this silent, awful, vigil the team can take, how much more _he_ can take. Because he knows how to grieve. He’s become intimately, painfully, familiar with the process of moving on, but he’s terrible at waiting. Terrible at the not knowing. Jason knows they can’t all stay here forever, they have lives they have to keep living, families to get back too. But right now he can’t imagine anyone leaving. After a few minutes Naima leaves and Ray joins them, taking a seat across from Jason. 

Surprisingly, Trent is the first one to break the heavy silence. 

“I…I should have been able to do more. Should have been able to help him.”

He says quietly, tone laced through with weary guilt. Ray shakes his head. 

“Come on, Trent, don’t go down that road. You did everything you could, and you kept him alive long enough to get him to help.”

“Yeah, golden boy would kick your ass if he knew you were talkin’ like that.”

Sonny chimes in, trying and failing to sound cheerful. Trent nods, but doesn’t seem sure. Quietly Brock reaches out and puts a comforting hand on his knee. Jason knows that now is the time to step in, now when everyone is shaken and fragmented and aching with worry. Now is when they need him. He’s just not sure how to make this better. 

“Do you….” He starts, eventually, almost tentatively, “Do you remember, first day Spenser rolled with Bravo for real, and he brought that terrible fucking Japanese beer?”

Sonny groans, shaking his head in memory. 

“Man that stuff was _awful_.”

“Yeah, and you could tell he’d really been thinking about it hard, too.” 

Trent adds, smiling fondly. 

“Or that time, last deployment in Afghanistan, when he bought a bunch of cheap ass alarm clocks in the market in J-bad and set them for two in the goddamn morning, hid ‘em all over the hooch. I really wanted to punch him right in his pretty face, the little shit just lay there, eyes closed, grinning about it.” 

Sonny says. Jason actually laughs at that, a real laugh. Luckily he and Ray got their own bunks in a separate barracks so they’d been spared the ordeal, but he remembers Brock looking ready to murder someone at breakfast the next morning. 

“You know, I really thought Brock was gonna sic Cerb on him for a second.” 

He says, still laughing a bit. 

“I need my beauty sleep.”

Brock explains mildly, but there’s a smile hidden in his voice. It feels like maybe something eases a little, after that. They don’t just sit in silence anymore, they talk. They talk about Clay, about how stupid he is, and how brave he is, and how kind he is. The way he loves books more then any other frogman Jason’s met or how he was always willing to let Jameelah and RJ clamber all over him like a jungle gym. It feels better this way, it feels right. They shouldn’t mourn yet because Clay is still here, with them, fighting. He’s still alive. They have to remember that. 

Sonny’s just launching into a story about one of he and Clay’s late night escapades when Johnson walks up. There’s a look on his face that Jason hasn’t seen before, one that’s almost hopeful. Immediately everyone falls quiet, looking to him expectantly. 

“What’s the news?”

Sonny asks, a little bit hesitantly. Johnson smiles. 

“I don’t want to get your hopes up, but his fever is falling and we’re seeing better respiration. I think there’s room for some optimism here.”

It’s not much, but it feels like the first piece of good news they’ve gotten since Clay arrived. Jason closes his eyes for a second, and takes a deep breath. He can work with that. 

Clay makes it through the rest of the day, and the night too. Eventually people start to go home, Ray heading out first to pick up the kids from their grandma’s. Sonny’s the last to leave, and that’s only because Jason pretty much forces him out the door with a promise to call the second he hears anything. Jason stays though. He figures someone should, and all that waits for him back at his place is an empty house and uncomfortable memories he’d rather not face right now. So he stays, and he waits. After a few hours Clay’s deemed stable enough that Jason’s allowed to sit in his room, and he sets up camp in there, getting as comfortable as he can in the understuffed chair. 

Reaching out he takes Clay’s hand in his, careful of the IV in the back of it, gives it a gentle squeeze. 

“I knew you’d fight, kid. I knew you’d fight.”

He says, the words feeling loud in the quiet room. And maybe it’s his imagination, but he swears he feels Clay squeeze back. 

Eventually Sonny comes to relieve him. He protests, but Sonny just shakes his head. 

“Look, you’ve been here all day, and honestly you’re startin’ to smell a bit funky y’know? I’ll sit with him. Go home and take a shower, get some sleep.” 

Eventually Jason lets Sonny shoo him out the door. He’s right, he is starting to smell a little sweaty and it’s impossible to get any sleep in those chairs unless you’re Brock. He makes the drive home mostly on autopilot, pulling into his driveway and parking without really remembering any of the bits in between the hospital and here.  
He feels about eighty years old and just as exhausted and for a long second he just sits in the car, hands resting on the steering wheel, trying to work up the energy to make it to the front door. 

He finally steps out of the car and starts his way up the driveway only to be confronted with his groceries, lying where he abandoned them yesterday. The ice cream has melted now, spreading out in a congealed pool on the pavement, soaking into the paper bags. Jason stares at it, and somehow it’s the chocolate ice cream that finally breaks him. 

Something that’s almost a sob rises in his chest, escapes through his mouth. Some wordless expression of grief and loss and hope too, maybe. That’s all he gives himself though, because if he opens that door he doesn’t think he’ll be able to close it again. There’s too much weight behind it, too many memories. Instead he squats down, gathering up the now damp sticky boxes pizza and groceries, shoving them back in the bag. 

He throws it all in the trash, slamming the lid down on the barrel. His fingers are tacky with melted ice cream now, and they stick to the warm green plastic. Wiping his hand off on his jeans he heads inside and straight for the bedroom, barely bothering to kick off his clothes before he collapses into his bed. He can’t remember the last time he slept in a bed, not a hammock or a couch or a hospital chair. He thinks back to Bravo, watching football and drinking beer. It was less then a week ago that he sat on Ray’s couch and watched Clay throw popcorn into Brock’s mouth, but it feels like a different lifetime.

He’s out almost as soon as his head hits the pillow, and he sleeps a deep dreamless sleep. When he wakes up it’s still light out, but a quick glance at his phone shows that it’s the next day. There’s a few texts from Sonny to the group chat, updating them on Clay’s condition, which is staying stable. Apparently the doctors are calling it a miracle. Jason smiles to himself. They obviously just don’t know Spenser, they wouldn’t be surprised if they did. 

Over the next few days Clay’s conditions continues to improve. They all try to visit as much as possible, but they still have work and families and life to attend too. He knows that Sonny spends a lot time in Clay’s room, the nurses tell him as much. After two days the doctors remove the vent, and after four they start to phase him off the meds that are keeping him in the coma. 

He comes out of it slowly, in bits and pieces. The first time Jason’s in the room when it happens it’s pretty anti-climactic, Clay opens his eyes and blinks at him for a few seconds, then drifts off back to sleep. Still, it’s the first time he’s seen Clay actually move on his own since Sudan, and it’s the first time Jason really thinks that things might be okay. 

Blinking furiously he takes a deep shaky, standing and wiping a hand down his face. Suddenly he feels a need for fresh air, and heads for the door, pushing it open without looking. He nearly plows right over Mandy, who’s just rounding the corner. They both stumble apart, Jason reaching to put his hands on her shoulders as she rebounds. 

“Woah, sorry,” he says, “Wasn’t watching where I was going.”

She brushes a stray hair away from her face, offers him a smile. She looks tired, dark circles under her eyes and a weight on her shoulders Jason’s learned to recognize as jet lag. Meaning she probably just got back from wherever she’d been. There’s also a bouquet of flowers wrapped in brown paper in her arms, slightly crushed by their collision. He gestures at them, 

“Those for Clay?”

She nods, looking faintly embarrassed. 

“Yeah, I- I never really know what to bring.” She sighs, tucking her hair behind her ear in an anxious tick. “Jason, I’m so sorry. I know Russell a bit from Quantico, he’s an idiot. I’m honestly surprised he took this long to get someone hurt.” 

Jason sighs, rubbing at his eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah. Blackburn’s trying to get some sort of internal review of his actions, but it’s been tough.” 

Many looks around, almost secretively, then leans in. 

“Look,” She says quietly, “Russell’s not the most popular guy at the agency, he’s ruffled a lot of feathers in his time. I could try and pull some strings, see what I can do.”

Jason shakes his head, 

“No, come on, I can’t ask you to do that.”

She smiles a small smile at him, sharp and fierce and deadly. 

“Jason, you don’t have to ask. Clay’s my friend, too.”

He pauses for a long moment, considering her, the nods, feeling something warm building in his chest. 

“Mandy, I…I really appreciate it.”

She just puts a gentle hand on his arm. 

“Of course. Anything I can do to help.” 

Then she’s gone, disappearing into Clay’s room. 

Clay’s gets a lot of visitors, after Mandy. Derek and Metal both stop by, and Jason even runs into Kairos in the hallway once, still wearing his flip flips and surfer shorts. He knows Brock has been sneaking Cerb into Clay’s room too, he keeps finding dog hair on the chair. When he confronts Brock about it though he just shrugs, grinning innocently. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

He says casually, and Jason rolls his eyes at the blatant lie but doesn’t press it. 

Clay keeps waking up, and by the end of the week he’s talking in full sentences and actually able to keep his eye open for more then thirty seconds at a time. He’s obviously still pretty groggy and in pain, but he’s alive and that’s more then Jason hoped for for a long while. Still, the more Clay recovers the closer Jason gets to having the conversation he’s been dreading ever since Clay’s chances started to look up, the conversation he knows he needs to have. 

He pulls Johnson aside on one of their visits, out into the hallway. Brock and Sonny are still inside, entertaining a grumpy Clay. Johnson looks at Jason expectantly. 

“What…What are his chances of operating again?”

Jason asks, almost hesitant. Johnson sighs. 

“Honestly? The chances of his returning to a hundred percent operational capacity, or even anywhere near where he was before this are pretty slim.”

Jason feels his stomach sink at the words. They don’t really come as a surprise, but it still stings to hear. It’ll crush Clay if he can’t operate anymore. And to be honest, Jason’s gotten pretty used to the kid watching his six out in the field. Clay is good, he thinks he could have been the best of them even, if he got the chance. 

“But,” Johnson continues, and Jason latches on to the word. “He’s still alive, when by all rights he shouldn’t be. So I guess I can’t rule anything out when it comes to Clay. Either way, it’s going to be a long road back,”

Johnson keeps talking after that, about PT and rehab and important things that Jason should pay attention too but will probably just get Trent to explain to him later, but he barely hears him. All he can hear is that but, ringing in his ears. Slim chances aren’t no chances. And Clay’s already proven he’s willing to fight, they just have to trust him. 


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not totally thrilled with the way this chapter came out but I spent way too long trying to rework it and getting nowhere...blegh. Next chapter will be the last and then an epilogue. Hope you enjoy and as always stay safe!

As Clay’s release from the hospital gets closer and closer soon the discussion turns to where he’s going to stay. There’s no way that he can just go home on his own, and with Stella gone there’s no one to look after him at his place. Trent offers, of course, but Jason knows his apartment is cramped and Trent would probably be relegated to the couch. 

“You’re coming home with me.”

Jason says decisively. Clay protests, of course. 

“I’ll be fine,” He says, “I don’t want to intrude, man, you got the kids and everything.”

Jason just shakes his head though, waving him off. 

“Look, Emma’s barely home anyways, and I have a big house. It’s not a problem at all.” 

Clay looks at Jason, then back down to his hands. Seems to realize that it’s not worth the fight. 

“Okay.” He says eventually, sounding faintly embarrassed. “Thanks, Jason.”

Jason wishes Clay didn’t take every offer of help so cautiously, like he’s a burden they have to figure out what to do with. Like they’re doing it out of some sort of feeling of a debt to be repaid, or because they pity him. It’s not about that. He wishes Clay didn’t feel like it was, but he doesn’t know how to convince him it isn’t. 

After nearly two and a half months Clay finally gets an okay from his doctor to move to out patient. It comes just in time. As Clay’s gotten stronger he’s also gotten more and more fed up with being stuck in bed and checked in on every five minutes. None of them like feeling helpless. Jason can’t say he isn’t glad to get the go ahead either. He doesn’t like hospitals, doesn’t like having to visit Clay in his blank sterile room. It’s an uncomfortable reminder of the past, one Jason could do with out. 

On the morning of his release Jason shows up bright and early before he has to head in to work to pick him up. He’d swung by Clay’s apartment to grab a few extra things, toothbrush and shampoo and a couple of changes of clothes, figures he can grab more later if Clay needs it. Clay’s already up and dressed and waiting in his room when Jason arrives, paper bag of meds sitting on his lap. 

“Ready to get out of here?”

Jason asks, holding back a smile. Clay nods emphatically. 

“God, yes.”

Jason does smile then, shakes his head. 

“Alright then, let’s blow this popsicle stand, huh?”

Mikey’s been home for a while now. Emma was back for a few weeks, but now she’s gone again for some sort of music summer camp, Jason isn’t clear on the details. He trusts her, and he’s trying to let her have more independence. Time to actually be a kid. He’d told Mikey Clay would be staying with them for a while, that he was hurt without going into the details exactly. He knows his kids worry enough about the dangers of his job without hearing that he nearly got blown up. Mikey for his part had been excited to have Clay stay, the two have always gotten along well. 

Jason shoulders Clay’s bag, supporting him as he slides gingerly out of the truck and helps him down the driveway. Clay’s recovering remarkably fast, but nothing can erase the fact that he got blown up less then three months ago. Mikey hops up eagerly from the couch as soon as Jason opens the door, running excitedly towards them. 

“Uncle Clay!”

He cries out excitedly, moving to throw his arms around Clay’s waist. Clay winces as he bumps against him though, face paling a little, and immediately Mikey pulls back like he’s been burned. 

“Did I hurt you?”

He asks, voice small in the way of a child who knows he’s just done something wrong. Clay just grins ruffling his hair. 

“Nah, I’m good. You’re just stronger then you look, little man, you been working out recently? What kind of stuff they have you doing at hockey camp.”

Mikey laughs, fear already forgotten, and shakes his head

“Alright, alright, that’s enough.” Jason cuts in, ruffling Mikey’s hair, “Give Clay some space, let him get settled in a little before you start badgering him, huh?”

Mikey gives Jason a sour look but retreats back to the couch and unpauses the show he’d been watching. Clay watches him go with a faint smile, and Jason thinks not for the first time that he’s going to make a good father someday. 

“Okay, let me show you where you can crash.”

Jason says, putting a hand on Clay’s elbow and leading him past the kitchen. Luckily the guest bedroom is on the ground floor, so Clay doesn’t have to climb any stairs to get too it. Jason pushes open the door, flicks on the light as he deposits Clay’s duffel on the bed. It’s pretty plain, but it’s got Alana’s touch, understated and feminine and a little cool to the touch. Like a showroom in one of her real estate properties.

“Alright, bathroom’s the second door on the right, make yourself at home” He glances down at his watch, winces at the time. “I have to head to work, but everything in the fridge is up for grabs and feel free to order a pizza for you and Mikey if you don’t want to make food. If you feel like anything -anything- is wrong, you call Trent, you call me, in that order, got it?”

Clay nods, looking around the pastel shades of the bedroom a little awkwardly. 

“Yeah, got it…Look, Jase, seriously, you don’t have to put me up, I’d be fine back at my place.”

Jason pauses, then, really looks at Clay. The way his hands fidget with the hem of his t-shirt, the way he’s looking anywhere but Jason. That familiar tone of faint embarrassment that colors Clay’s voice. He sighs, wishing he had more time to deal with this. Wishing Clay would just let people help him. He knows Clay doesn’t like looking weak in front of them, but this isn’t weakness. It’s the opposite of it. 

“I don’t have to, but I _want_ to, alright? It’s what you do for your brother's. Now I really gotta run or Blackburn’ll have my ass. Remember, call Trent, then call me.”

He doesn’t really give Clay a chance to respond, just pats him on the back and heads for the door. 

He comes back from work to Clay and Mikey on the couch, playing some video game Jason’s too old to understand. Clay’s laughing, as Mikey yells something unintelligible about the rules, both so engrossed in the game that they don’t even notice Jason walk in. There’s a half empty box of pizza on the counter, and a few greasy plates abandoned next to it. The house feels warmer then it has in a long while, the oppressive emptiness held at bay. 

“Looks like you two are having fun,”

He says, dropping his bag on the floor by the door. 

“If by having fun you mean getting your ass kicked then yeah I’m having lots of fun,” Clay says, but he’s grinning. “Pizza’s on the counter if you want some.” 

Jason grabs a cold slice, then falls down onto the couch beside Mikey, bumping his arm with his hip as he does and grinning through a bite of pizza as Mikey starts to protest the interference. 

Things go smoothly at first. Clay seems to be adjusting to being out of the hospital well, actually taking his meds and not pushing himself too hard. He has his first PT appointment in a week, and he seems eager to start building himself back up. He’s bouncing back remarkably quickly from something he shouldn’t have even walked away from in the first place, and Jason feels more then a hint of pride. 

Three days into Clay’s stay Jason wakes up to the sound of someone screaming. For an awful second he thinks Mikey, and then after his sleep-drenched brain catches up with reality he recognizes the voice. It’s Clay. That scares him, because through it all he never heard Clay scream. Not when he got blown up, not when they passed him up out of the roof like a sack of potatoes, not even when Trent cut him open on the helo. Jason bolts out of bed, stumbling to pull on a shirt and grab his phone from where it’s charging on his dresser before half running down the hallway. A hundred awful possibilities run through his mind, a hundred different ways they could have missed something at the hospital. Clay can’t make it through jumping on a grenade just to die in Jason’s guest bedroom. Mikey’s up too, standing in the doorway of his bedroom with wide frightened eyes. 

“Dad, what’s going on? Is he okay?”

He asks as Jason approaches, voice shaky and scared. Jason just nods, 

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine Mikey just get back in bed okay?”

He doesn’t wait to see if Mikey obeys, barreling down the stairs and pushing the door to Clay’s bedroom open, switching on the lights. His other hand is ready to speed dial Trent if need be. Clay’s not moving at all, lying stock still and rigid in the bed, which somehow more frightening. His eyes are closed, neck corded and sweaty and fingers grasping white knuckled at the sheets. It takes a second for Jason to realize that Clay’s not having a medical emergency, just a nightmare. 

He sighs, the panic in his chest easing a little. Generally it’s a bad idea to wake a frogman in the middle of a nightmare, you’re as liable to get punched in the face as anything for your troubles, but Jason can’t just let Clay relive whatever horror he’s dreaming of right now. Carefully he reaches down and gives Clay’s shoulder a gentle shake, ready to pull back if he reacts badly. Clay doesn’t try to punch him in the face though, instead the yelling trails off and after a brief second his eyes flicker open. 

He blinks a few times, brows furrowing in confusion as he takes in the fact that his team leader is leaning over his bed and all the lights are on. 

“Jase?” He croaks, voice hoarse, “What are you doing?”

“You, uh, you were yelling pretty loud.” 

Jason says, carefully. Clay winces, face flushing with embarrassment, starting to sit up a little. 

“Shit, I’m really sorry. I- did I wake up Mikey?”

Jason just waves him off. 

“He’s fine, kid is tough.” 

Clay nods, wiping a hand down his sweaty face and swallowing. 

“Anyways, sorry for waking you up, I’m good now.”

Jason nods, starting to get up, then pauses. Looks at Clay’s pale drawn face and makes a decision. 

“Come on, neither of us are going to be able to get back to sleep.”

Clay looks confused, but follows hesitantly, levering himself carefully out of bed and padding behind Jason to the kitchen. He perches awkwardly on one of the kitchen stools as Jason yanks the freezer open and pulls out a tub of chocolate ice cream. Pulling two bowls out of the cabinet he sets them down on the countertop and spoons a generous helping of ice cream into both, shoving one towards Clay. 

Even sweaty and pale, hair still messed up from bed and eyes a little distant Clay still manages to give him a look. Jason just shrugs, takes a bite. 

“What, chocolate ice cream’s chocolate ice cream. I’ll eat if you don’t want it.”

He threatens, reaching out for Clay’s bowl, but Clay shakes his head, pulling it away from his grasping fingers. 

“Never said I didn’t want it.” 

He says, carving out a spoonful. Jason snorts, shaking his head. He’s worse then his damn kids.

“So. Want to talk about it?”

He finally asks, after Clay’s about half way through his bowl, and there’s some color back in his face. Clay freezes, spoon halfway to his mouth. Swallows, puts it back down in the bowl. 

“Do I have a choice?”

He asks, quietly, not quite meeting Jason’s eyes. 

“Yeah, of course. You always have a choice. But…sometimes it helps.”

Clay looks back at the ice cream starting to melt off his spoon, and sighs. 

“I keep having these dreams, about when I-about that night.” 

Jason nods. He does too, thinks everyone on the team does. It’s probably something that’s going to haunt them for a long time. 

“Everything happens exactly the same, but it’s like a movie. I know the ending, but I’m stuck inside my body, I can’t change anything. All I can do is wait, and watch. The frag comes through the window, and I jump on it. And then I just, I get up, and-and somehow I’m fine and all of you are dead.”

Jason feels his gut clench at the raw fear in Clay’s voice, the way his hand shakes a little as he’s talking. He nearly died, spent months in painful slow recovery, and this is what he has nightmares about. About losing them. 

“Hey, Clay, look at me.” Jason says, voice thick. “We’re fine. We’re all fine, okay? We’re not going anywhere. You understand? We’re not going anywhere.”

Clay nods, looking down at his bowl of ice cream, poking at it a little with his spoon. 

“Yeah, I know. It’s just… it’s hard to remember that, sometimes.” 

Jason understands, truly. Sometimes it doesn’t feel quite real that Clay’s still here, sitting talking with him across the kitchen counter. Sometimes he feels like he’s going to wake up to a world where he’s dead and buried like so many of Jason’s friends. 

“I know.”

He says quietly, and he does. They sit there for a long while, silently finishing their ice cream, till the first rays of morning light start to creep through the windows. 


	10. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap! I have an epilogue planned which should be up tomorrow or the day after, and after that there's a really short little one or two chapter piece I've been working on on the side which I'll probably post soon as well. Thanks so much for sticking with this story everyone, I hope you enjoyed it!

The day before Clay’s first rehab appointment Blackburn sends him a text, asking him to come in. When Jason shows up at the conference room the whole team is already there, looking as confused as he feels. Mandy and Eric are both standing at the front of the room, faces somber. He pulls up a chair beside Ray, sits down.

“What’s this about, Blackburn, we getting spun up?”

Eric shakes his head, exchanges a glance with Mandy.

“As you all know I’ve been working to get Agent Russell up for review. With Mandy’s help we managed to get a disciplinary hearing called to review his actions on the South Sudan op.”

Jason sits up, looking around at his team and back at Blackburn. 

“Okay, great, that’s a good thing, why do you look like someone just ran over your cat?”

Mandy steps forward, crossing her arms and pursing her lips. 

“Unfortunately, Russell does have the backing of a senator. As it is the hearing’s likely to result in nothing more then a slap on the wrist.” She pauses, “Unless there’s sufficient testimony to proof negligence on his part.” 

Blackburn around to each of them carefully, like he’s weighing his words before he says them. 

“Look, I’m not going to lie, this is a risk. Testifying paints a big-ass target on your back, and if you don’t want to come forward and risk that there’s no shame in it. You all have careers to think about, families to think about-”

“I’m in.”

Jason says, voice firm, slamming his hand down his table. It’s easy, it’s not even a decision, not really. He loves his job, but he’s never going to let it get in the way of doing the right thing. Doing right by family. 

“Fuck yeah, you can’t keep me away.” Sonny says fiercely, “I’ve been achin’ to sink my teeth into that bastard.” 

Trent nods. 

“Me too. Asshole’s got it coming.”

Brock lifts his hand quietly, and the look on his face is deadly. Ray’s the last to speak, 

“Yeah.” He says, slowly. “For Clay.”

Everyone echoes after him, _for Clay_. For their friend. For their brother. Blackburn nods, and there’s a look of quiet pride on his face. 

“Alright then. We’ll make it happen.” 

Mandy smiles then, teeth showing, and if Jason didn’t want to pound Russell’s face to mush he might actually feel bad for him. 

They agree to all take turns driving Clay to his physical therapy appointments, and Jason’s up first. The whole drive to the PT center Clay’s quiet, but Jason can tell he’s nervous from the way he’s mauling the brim of the ragged baseball cap he’s holding in his hands. 

“Hey. Clay. It’s gonna be fine, man.” 

Jason says, when the heavy silence gets to be too much. Clay’s eyes dart his way for a second, then return to the hat in his hands. 

“Jase, what if… What if it isn’t? What if they don’t clear me? What am I supposed to do with my entire fucking life if I can’t come back to Bravo.” 

An edge of panic’s started to enter his voice, fingers tightening on the brim of the cap. Jason shakes his head,

“Don’t talk like that, you’re gonna go in, you’re gonna work hard, and you’ll make it back to the team.” 

“But…But what if I don’t?”

Clay asks, voice very small. Jason sighs, pulling the car out of traffic and putting it in park. 

“Clay. Look at me.”

Slowly, reluctantly, Clay does. He looks very unsure, more then Jason’s ever seen from him. He’s a different Clay then before, Jason thinks. A little more fragile maybe, a little less arrogant. He never thought he’d miss the cocky kid who mouthed off at every opportunity when he first joined the team but he’d give anything to see him right now. 

“If, _if_ , you don’t make it back. We’ll figure it out, together, okay? We’re not gonna just drop you if you can’t operate anymore, huh? You’re our brother, got it, and that doesn’t end just cause you’re not on the team anymore. That’s for life.” 

Jason says, trying to make Clay understand how true that is. Clay will always be with them, even if he can’t come back to the job. Clay nods, takes a deep shaky breath. When he’s pretty sure he’s managed to talk Clay of the ledge Jason puts the car back into drive and pulls into traffic again. Clay still seems nervous the rest of the way to the center, but his fingers are still and his eyes are steady and determined. 

PT is tough. It hurts and it’s frustrating and Jason knows it chafes at Clay how slowly progress seems to come. He has good days, and bad days. On good days he comes home tired and sweaty but excited, on bad days he’s sullen and snippy, disappearing into his room. Jason doesn’t take it personally when Clay snaps at him or gets angry. Instead he tries to just be there, to be what Clay needs him to be. The other guys help too, driving him to appointments and back, egging him on when he starts to falter, spending time with him. Jason’s house becomes an informal gathering place, and there’s usually at least one other member of Bravo sprawled out on his couch or playing around with Mikey in the backyard or making a mess in the kitchen. So it’s tough, but he works hard, even on the days he doesn’t want to, and slowly, slowly, he gets better. Gets stronger. 

The date of Russell’s review board approaches, and Jason tries to decide when, and if, he should tell Clay. He knows that out of any of them, Clay is the one who has the most right to be angry. Russell’s the reason he spent almost three months in a hospital bed, but he’s not sure how Clay would react. His rehab process has been going well, and he doesn’t want to throw him off his game or distract him. Not when he’s so close to his goal. In the end though he figures he deserves to know, and it’s not Jason’s right to hide it from him. 

He tries to bring up the subject casually after dinner one night. Mikey’s gone upstairs to play some video game, and Jason and Clay are cleaning up the remains of taco night. 

“So,” Jason says, carefully nonchalant, as Clay hands him a stack of plates to put in the dishwasher. “Remember how Blackburn’s been trying to get the CIA to put forward an official reprimand for Russell?”

Clay gives him a confused look but nods. 

“Well, Mandy offered to help out, pull some strings. We managed to get a review board, it’s scheduled for next week.”

Clay’s brushing shreds of grated cheese and salsa off the countertop, and his hand stutters for a just a second before resuming. 

“That’s good.”

He says, evenly. Jason raises an eyebrow. He’s not sure exactly what he was expecting, anger maybe, or vindication. Something at least, not this casual blankness. 

“That’s all you got? That’s good?”

He says, setting aside the dishes for now and turning to face Clay. Clay shrugs brushing his hands off in the sink and avoiding Jason’s gaze. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say Jason. He was an asshole, and the intel he sent us in on was bullshit, obviously. It’s good he’s gonna get held responsible for his actions, but the past is the past. Review board isn’t going to change it.” 

Clay’s voice is calm but there’s an undercurrent of tension in it, like he’s holding something back. Jason takes a second, because now he’s not sure at all how Clay’s going to react to the next piece of news. 

“We’re, uh, we’re all testifying. The team, is I mean.”

That gets Clay’s attention and he stops pretending to clean. 

“What?”

He asks, voice almost fragile. 

“Look, Mandy helped get the review in place and she said if there wasn’t testimony he’d probably get away with it-“

“How long has this been planned?”

Clay interrupts sharply, blue eyes stormy. Jason suddenly feels like the tables have turned and he’s on the defensive and he’s not sure how they got here. 

“A couple weeks, Clay, it just…”

“It just what, didn’t come up? Jesus Jason if anyone should have known about this it should have been me! And you hid it from me, all of you.” 

Clay sounds properly angry now, voice getting a little louder, a little sharper, and as much as Jason wants to keep his cool he can’t help himself from rising to meet him. 

“It’s not just about you, Clay, okay? It’s about if this happens again, Russell’s a liability and letting him walk away from this is putting other teams at risk. You really want that?”

It’s a cheap shot, and Jason regrets it as soon as it leaves his mouth. Clay throws the sponge he was holding down, mouth tight, and walks away. A second later Jason hears the door to his room slam shut, and winces. That definitely did not go how he planned. 

Clay stays in his room the rest of the night, and Jason doesn’t see him before he leaves for work in the morning either. He’s distracted all day, and of course Ray picks up on it. He pulls him aside when they take a break from running training drills, folds his arms and waits. Jason sighs. 

“Told Clay about Russell’s hearing last night.” 

He says, pulling his cap off and running a hand through his hair. Ray raises an eyebrow, 

“How’d he take it?” 

Jason grimaces, jams his hat back on and shakes his head. 

“Not well. He was pretty pissed off, we fought. Now he refuses to talk to me. He’s acting like a brat.” 

The last part is unfair, and Jason knows that, but he’s frustrated and tired and worried and it slips out. Ray’s brow furrows, and he seems to think the same thing because when he replies there’s a hint of reprimand to his tone. 

“Come on, Jase, that ain’t fair and you know it.” Jason opens his mouth to defend himself but Ray shakes his head, holding up a hand. “You gotta look at it from his point of view. Kid goes from being a badass tier one operator working his dream job, to having to stay at his boss’ house cause he can’t live on his own, he’s not sure he’s ever gonna be able to operate again, he’s in pain, and now you tell him all his friends are going after the guy who was responsible for those things. He’s not being a brat, he’s frustrated and helpless and feels like he doesn’t have control of his life. How would you react to that, huh?” 

With every word Jason feels worse and worse, because Ray is right. And he knew that the whole time, he just didn’t want to admit it. Leaning back and letting his head knock against the wall behind him he closes his eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Fuck, I was kind of an asshole wasn’t I.”

Ray laughs a little, gently knocks his shoulder against Jason’s.

“Yeah, a bit. But Clay’s not gonna a hold a grudge. Talk to him. Work it out. Last thing we need is you two fighting.”

Clay’s out in the backyard when Jason gets home, watching Mikey flick hockey pucks into the net Jason’s got set up. He opens the fridge, grabbing a peace offering. Clay’s still on some pretty heavy duty pain meds so he can’t drink but Jason hands him a cool soda, sitting down beside him. 

Clay takes it, a little sheepishly, glancing over at Jason briefly. 

“Hey.”

Jason says, twisting the cap off his beer. 

“Hey.”

Clay responds. He doesn’t take a drink out of his soda yet, just rolls the cool can in between his hands. For a few minutes they just sit there, watching Mikey practice. Clay’s the first to break the silence. 

“I just wanted… I wanted to say I’m sorry for yesterday night. You guys are doing a good thing and I shouldn’t have come at you like that about it.” 

Jason shakes his head. 

“No man, don’t apologize. I was the one who fucked up. I shouldn’t have kept it from you for this long in the first place, it was a mistake.” 

Clay smiles faintly, finally takes a sip of his drink. 

“Maybe we both fucked up a little. Guess we’re both a little hot-headed, huh.” 

Jason snorts, shaking his head. 

“Yeah, guess we are. Should’ve seen the lecture Ray gave me at work today, felt like I got sent to the principles office.”

Clay laughs, eyes crinkling, and Jason laughs along with him. 

So. We good?”

He asks after a second, a little tentatively. Clay nods. 

“Yeah, we’re good.” 

In the background Mikey sends the puck into the back of the net with a sharp thwack, he spins, grinning at them. They both cheer as he takes an exaggerated bow, and in that moment, Jason feels something unclench in his chest that had been tight since things went to hell in Sudan, maybe even before tht. 

The day of the trial arrives. Clay decides not to come, which Jason understands. There’s nothing there that do him any good. Bravo gathers outside of the conference room the review is being held in, in full dress blues. There’s a heavy silence that falls over the team, not nerves, but intension. After a few minutes the door opens and a woman ushers them in, they file in behind her, standing in a line before where the review board sits. Russell is off to the side, expression caught between white-faced fury and a sort of arrogant condescension. Jason barely spares him a glance, keeps his eyes locked ahead of him. 

Jason steps forward when prompted, stating his name and rank before beginning his testimony. He lays every flaw with mission from start to finish calmly and evenly. The incomplete target package Russell pushed on them, the insufficient vetting of the intel his asset passed on, the lack of confirmation of the target or the number of hostiles to be expected. It’s just the facts, but the facts are damning enough. When he’s finished he steps back and one by one each of Bravo take their. Sonny gets particularly creative with his, and with every testimonial the anger drains out of Russell’s face to be replaced with the realization of just how well and truly fucked he is. 

When they’re all finished they turn and walk out the door, and leave Russell to his fate. Mandy’s waiting for them outside, and she straightens as they approach. 

“How’d it go?”

She asks, brushing her hair out of her face.

“Pretty sure Russell pissed himself a lil in there,”

Sonny drawls, sounding very pleased with himself. 

“Yeah, I think it’s safe to say Russell’s career just took a nosedive.” 

Trent adds, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. Mandy nods, looking satisfied. 

“Good. Someone’s needed to do that for a long time.” 

“Alright, come on, burgers and beer at my place.” 

Jason calls, slapping Sonny on the back. They walk away, a weight lifting of off Jason’s shoulders as they leave Russell behind. He doesn’t matter, not anymore. What matters is Clay, and getting him back on his feet. What matters is his team. 

Finally, after three months in the hospital and countless more of rest and rehab and physical Clay’s cleared to operate again. Sonny was about ready to throw him a damn party, but Jason knows Clay didn’t want to make a big deal about it, turn it into a thing, so he quietly steers Sonny away from the idea, let’s Clay come back on his own terms. So, on the morning of Clay’s first day, there’s no fanfare or special welcome, they just start their day, business as usual. 

Clay’s the last to arrive, walking into the room with his bag slung over his shoulder while everyone’s getting ready in their cages. There’s a case of beer sitting on the table in the middle of the room. Japanese microbrew. He pauses, looking from the case to Jason, and back. 

“What, uh, what’s that?”

He asks, laughing a little and running a hand through his hair. Jason shrugs, swings the door to his cage shut. 

“Told you, we owed you a case a beer. You survived, so you get to collect.” 

Reaching forward he pulls a bottle out of its cardboard slot, offers it to Clay. He takes it, after a small hesitation, setting his bag down by his feet. He smiles, a little awkwardly, a little uncertainly, twisting the cap off. 

“You didn’t have to.” 

He says, as the rest of the guys start to gather around and Jason passes out the rest of the beers. 

“Clay, every guy in this room owes you his life.” Jason replies, “This is the least we can do.” 

Clay looks like he’s going to respond but then he glances at the label, his eyes narrowing, and then looks back up to Jason accusatorially. 

“Wait, hold on, this is the stuff I brought on my first day. You guys said it was terrible.”

Sonny grins, throwing an arm around Clay’s shoulder. 

“Yeah, proves how much we love ya, that we’re drinking this crap again.” 

Clay shakes his head, 

“You’re an asshole,”

He says, but he’s smiling, letting Sonny pull him close and Trent clap a hand on his back. Once everyone has a beer in their hand Jason lifts his up, bringing it to the center, waits for the rest to follow suit. 

“To Bravo, all of it.”

He says, and everyone echoes after him, clinking their bottles together. To Bravo. To family. Because sometimes you lose people, and sometimes you have to let go, but not Clay, not yet. And Jason knows that doesn’t mean never, but at least for today and tomorrow and the day after that, they have him. And they have each other. And for the moment, that’s enough. 


	11. Epiloge

It’s two weeks since Clay was cleared for duty and the team just got back from their first spin-up with him back which means they’re out at the Bulkhead for a night celebrating. Clay was rock-solid the whole way through the op, just like Jason knew he’d be, and even though it got a little hairy towards the end they all made it out with just a few singed hairs to show for it. Watching Clay you’d never have guessed he nearly died six months ago. 

It’s a couple of hours (and more then a couple shots of tequila) in and everyone’s spread out across the bar. Davis is beating Brock handily at a game of pool while Blackburn and Trent cheer them on, Sonny’s hitting on a few cute college girls playing darts pretty unsuccessfully by the looks of it, and Ray’s watching his attempts with poorly concealed amusement. Jason and Clay are up at the bar, chatting idly. 

“So,” Jason asks, taking a sip of his whiskey. “How’s it feel, back in the saddle?”

Clay shrugs, grins.

“Really good, think I was startin’ to go crazy on light duty y’know? I don’t like sitting around doing nothing.”

Jason chuckles. That’s the damn truth; he really thought Clay might bite Trent’s head off if he reminded him to take it slow one more time. They sit in companionable silence for a while, just taking in the casual, familiar, late night atmosphere. But Jason can’t hold it for long. There’s something that he’s wondered about for a long time now, something he hasn’t really had the guts to ask. And really, hee thinks he probably shouldn’t ask it, should probably leave well enough, but that’s never something Jason’s been good at. Taking a long pull of his drink he sets it down on the bar top, takes a breath as it burns it’s way down his throat. 

“Why’d you do it?”

Jason asks, quietly. Clay shrugs uncomfortably, looks away. Doesn’t ask what it, is. They both know. 

“I mean, it was that or everybody died. It’s what we’re trained for.”

“Yeah, but there were five other guys in that room, all trained just like you, and not one of them, not even me, did it. You were the one who took the hit. So I’m asking again, why’d you do it?”

Jason asks, pressing. He knows it’s a little unfair, maybe, but he also knows it has to happen. Clay grimaces, runs a hand through his hair, then finally sighs.

“It was just… It was either one of us or all of us, and I thought, y’know, you and Ray have kids and you guys all have families to think about and I just… I figured it was better it was me, then any of you I guess. There’s no one waiting on me to come home, Ash couldn’t give a shit about whether I lived or died unless it looked good for his book I think.” 

The last part is slightly tinged with bitterness, but it’s an old and tired one. Like Clay’s known this for a long time. Jason tries to swallow down the anger that threatens to rise every time he hears Ash’s name. He can’t imagine ever trading in Mikey’s life for fifteen minutes of fame and a book tour. Can’t imagine raising a child and not aching to protect them with every fiber of your being. But maybe that’s the catch, in the end, Ash didn’t raise Clay. Doesn’t know him, really. And he’ll never really understood what he missed out on either, the kind of man his son turned out to be, despite it all. But Clay doesn’t need his anger right now, he just needs a reminder. 

“Clay, look around the bar.” Jason says, none of the casual lightness from before in his voice now. “Look at Brock getting his ass kicked at pool over there, and Sonny making an idiot of himself. The only reason we’re in this bar right now is because of you, because of the sacrifice you made. ”

Clay glances around, eyes resting on each of his teammates for a second, eyes softening, bitterness draining away like rain down a gutter. 

“You know, while you were in the hospital here, when things started to go downhill. Everyone stayed. Lisa and Blackburn too. They were all tired, and hurt, had families to see. But they stayed. Sonny was about ready to put Russell in the ground with his own two hands for what he did, had to talk him down from it. _That’s_ family, alright? Not some asshole who can’t be bothered to show up for his kid. You have people waiting on you, Clay, you got lots of people who care. So don’t ever say there’s no one, you hear me?”

Clay nods shortly, throat working. His eyes are a little glassy, and there’s something that looks a little like awe in them maybe, or surprise. 

“Yeah,” He says softly, “I hear you.”

Jason takes anther deep breath, lets out it out in a soft breath that whistles between his teeth, reigning in the flood of emotions that swelled up from nowhere. Something about this kid always manages to get him worked up, one way or another. It can’t be good for his stress levels, and he’s pretty sure he’s accrued several new grey hairs since Clay joined Bravo. When he’s got himself back under control, he starts again.

“Listen, Ray and I, we put you up for the medal of honor.” 

Clay looks at him, eyes wide with a different kind of surprise now. 

“What? Jason-”

Jason holds up his hands, already knowing what’s coming next.

“I know, I know, I didn’t have to.”

“I didn’t do it for medal.”

Clay says, almost sharply, like he’s embarrassed. Jason nods. 

“I know that Clay, and that’s exactly why you deserve it. Don’t fight it, man, it’s already been submitted for consideration, nothing we can do now.”

Clay sits back a little. Nods, runs a hand through his hair, laughs a little. 

“Guess the right response would be thanks, huh.” 

Jason just shakes his head, slaps him on the shoulder. 

“Nah, you don’t have to say thanks. Not for this.” 

And he means it. Not for this. Clay smiles then, genuinely, but before he can respond Sonny appears, slinging a heavy arm around his neck. Apparently he gave up on the college girls. 

“Hey, man, I’m getting my ass kicked here. I need my wingman, you up for it goldilocks or did ya lose your touch during your long convalescence?” 

He says, alcohol loose tongue rolling out the o’s in long, tone playfully jibing. Clay rolls his eyes, affectionately shoving Sonny’s arm off. 

“Looks like duty calls,” 

He says, rolling his eyes good-naturedly, an easy grin tugging at his lips that speaks too many similar nights spent as Sonny’s wingman. Jason grins, lifting his hands, relinquishing his claim. 

“Hey, you do what you gotta do. It’s clear Sonny needs some help, watching all that go down was painful.” 

Sonny flips him off casually as he starts to drag Clay away, who’s griping about how he got at least two nurses numbers during his hospital stay. From the corner Trent whoops as Lisa sinks the eight ball, Brock groaning. Jason watches them go, finishing the last of his drink, and the warmth that blooms in his chest like a flower isn’t just because of the whiskey. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading all! Keep an eye out, I have a couple more things planned ;)


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